Frost in a churchyard, silent falls the snow
Silent on gravestones cold, on stories old
So softly spoken, whispers from below
Heard by a searching ear
A mocking voice calls, calls from Limbo's gloom
"In time the living die, the dead remain"
The snow will cover living men and dead
All in its pure white cloak
Silent on gravestones cold, on stories old
So softly spoken, whispers from below
Heard by a searching ear
A mocking voice calls, calls from Limbo's gloom
"In time the living die, the dead remain"
The snow will cover living men and dead
All in its pure white cloak