Long worn, the veil of death
rots within the hollow hole;
to the rhythm of my heart,
licks away my sullen soul.
Still was a dear friend of mine,
closer to me than the stars above;
wished my life brimmed with colours,
filled with bliss, filled with love.
Oh, now I see the holy light
came to receive me;
yet I wonder the work of Charon,
always working, never free.
But who am I to pity him?
I once sang the ferryman’s hymn.