My Euridice,
Sweet woman,
Who's tender soul could turn even the stone heart of death.
Your loving touch like magic,
As I drink that embrace like honey,
It transforms my sins into prayers.
And your melodious voice,
Like a lyre,
I listen to your songs obsessively,
Their rhythms are my heartbeat.
When that cold hand of Thanatos stole you,
Holding you to Elysium where you belong,
When your song stopped,
He took me too.