Anorexic branches of weeping willows
Get played by the wind
A hungry man pushes milk on a trolley
Strolls by corpses for their sins skinned.
All this shines under morning rays of Melancholy.

Soft sounds of Rachmaninoff
Make nature in frames move
Holy is the feeling of freedom
Every escape of mine freedom does approve.
All this shines under morning rays of Melancholy.

Silver collars of workmen
All washed and left to dry
Empty parks and streets get haunted
As years go by.
All this shines under morning rays of Melancholy.

Hordes of suits pour in crimson rooms
Stacked with greed
From floor to roof
Indeed fast they run when they smell the truth.
All this shines under morning rays of Melancholy.

Shadows go around
Green dies and again is reborn
Every year with even less sound than before
Corpses still hang, God wants more

And all this shines
'Till one day it sets on fire
Burnt is the last proud buyer
Melancholy stands still, stopping to admire
Then walks away, She understands;
The world has expired.