I stand upon my pedestal of light,
And lay unto thee, thy cradle of flowers...

Today, I fear, I lay to rest,
My aching hearts desire,
As I laugh into the face
Of loves unholy pyre,

So wave ye not, to my dark horse
That leads this sweet procession,
For if you knew of life at all
You'd know of hopes reccession,

And as I lay this crimson rose
Upon your figure wilted,
I dream of love, you cast aside
And romance you left jilted,

So think me not, of one to blame
The jester making merry,
At such a bittersweet event
The casket I must carry,

Grim are those, the black veiled faces,
Which none may recompense,
Behold, the grave upon the ground:
The death, of innocence.