Insomnious Autumnal Night

Ashen clouds slowly sail on the frowning sky
The baleful Luna shines gently from behind
Thousands of poignant tears are shed down below
A filthy, dry odor succumbed to petrichor
An ominous passage led to the sullen night paysage
Which seemed hitherto an elusive far mirage
In a soft embrace of the wretched enchantress
Even total darkness will lose a game of chess
With heavy steps, but a tranquil breath he treads to the broad ledge
Twisted shapes of the gray landscape are seen from the house edge
A boring life, internal strifes – melancholia
Wind was blowing mildly, it brought light euphoria
A seducing gaze from obscurity
He looked loftily, brusquely at the gaunt face
As if forgetting about her mournful grace
Her grave malady and naive vanity
This insomnious autumnal night
This insomnious autumnal night
In a murky, burial shroud, death cries
Another poor soul tries to finish the game
Unfortunately, beforehand
On drear eyes of emerald color
Was nothing, but bitter, mute sorrow
A haggard body rests on the ground
Among vermilion gouts
She has to stay unbiased
Thus, guarding a painful suspense
A mien of the Woeful Queen
Showed genuine sadness
She awkwardly plays at give-away
Truly enjoying convulsions of prey
An opponent always clings to life, but this time
There is no reason to fight
As this insomnious autumnal night
In a murky, burial shroud, death cries
Another poor soul tries to finish the game
Unfortunately, beforehand
On drear eyes of emerald color
Was nothing, but bitter, mute sorrow
The haggard body rests on the ground
Among vermilion gouts
He deluded her vilely, broke her shy heart
Trampled it arrogantly, tore it apart
By invisible waves of vespertine air
She was thrown in the abyss of eternal despair
Det fanns en man, som försökte
Skjuta upp det oundvikliga
Men lömska döden, som gömdes i mörkret
Visste i förväg att han skulle förlora
Hon tiger med ett leende
När frågar man, vad händer sen
Han flög till ljuset som en fjäril
Men det största skämtet var att det fanns ingenting
She awkwardly plays at give-away
Truly enjoying convulsions of prey
An opponent always clings to life, but this time
There is no reason to fight
As this insomnious autumnal night
In a murky, burial shroud, death cries
Another poor soul just finished the game
Unfortunately, beforehand
Golden foliage flies in the chill October wind
Beneath argent, dim moonbeams
The last words he said before the tragical end
We are... We are... We are already dead.