Haggling In An Empty Market

Now the sun goes down to rest from its daily shining How then have you come to an early grave Passing in a boisterous way from the lip of dawn Rambling around the God swollen foot . Wailing, crying and gnashing of teeth prevent not the grave from receiving its dusty guest. At the shore of Victoria beach, Here we were, hanging our lyre, pipe, and drums Shedding tears at the shrouded view of a sandy host The sea also arose in a sad mood. Span my days! Full of sadness from its genesis Mother weep, relatives shed tears, whether that of crocodile – now i know May be they all want to make an alien a nationale The dead cry for the dead’ Only time will tell, when the beauty will sleep in abode of unconditional comfort. Now! I can hear, the song of a songbird Singing sweetly and softly, Oh little bird! You are not sad like us I am neither sad nor lonely But singing of the last embrace , when the saint are matching on I am neither sad nor lonely Rejoicing with the wise travellers that are free of debt the given the account of their individual marketing journey Cry for Joy! Says oh nightingale For it is better to respond to the call while the dew is still wet on the grass With a great welcoming party. Than to be covered with burning shame at the end of a million lengthen years In the city of temporal shelter. Haggling in an empty market, so long , with an empty purchase where time and effort were spent in a flashing memory Vanity upon vanity