And all the pebbled paths feel crooked and winding
Behind yellow walls of reminding
It feels as if someone is quite near
In the garden of the dead
I feel cold and lost
In the garden of the dead
Tumbled tombs and broken sprouts
Just outside the dear city's gates
Here in the Garden of the Dead
Through its enticing gates we are led
Now, inside this labyrinth we grope
Among the nobles, the poor and the rest
A piercing wind embraces all the sick and lone
Some names remain odd and ever so unknown
Once these fields were alive with infant joy
Now the darkness snows from right above
Like soil falling over your blessed head
Soon to be laid to rest in the eternal bed
Tumbled tombs and broken sprouts
Just outside the dear city's gates
Here, in the Garden of the Dead
Through its gates we are led
The plague extends towards its prey
To every cut-off flower without root
As a tense actor tainted by the writ
Sweet memories of the life we have knit