He rises from his bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in his head,
He idolises being dead.
Facing the day with never-ending dread.

Autumn is the priest of pride.
Her shadows lifts a gentle fragrance
that farmhands duly celebrate.
The coffin makers drink a sweet nectar
that lifts their souls.
The milkmaid idolises memories of her first  love.
August is this flame

That girl lies in bed with ducts that weep.
She rises from her bitter bed
With thoughts of suicide in her head
She idolises being dead.
Facing the day wishing it would all just end

The only thing keeping her here
Is the golden locket around her neck
As she looks at the photo
And remembers the promises she made
She knows that one day it will be better

So she puts the knife down
And calls the girl who is in the locket
She knows she will make her smile
And remind her she is worth more than she thinks

Whose sadness is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch her frown.I cry hello.

The sadness is silent and deep,
But she has promises to keep,
Until then she shall not sleep.
She lies in bed with ducts that weep.

She rises from her ridden bed,
With thoughts of sadness in her head
She idolises being dead.
Facing the day with never ending dread.