When the pale moon recedes; no sun to take it's place,
And darkness hides all tears, now frozen on thy face,
And no cries can be uttered, they only echo in the head,
When all joy turns to sorrow, and hope right into dread,
And light not even remaineth, not even within the soul,
And the wind makes no chime; the bells no longer toll,
When ghosts no longer taunt me, with words I should've said,
Tis' the day I'll admit, my dear, our love is surely dead.