What Becomes of Love
Autumn is nigh when leaves are shed
trees do die where the Fallen doth tred
and I hear what comes from under sea
the dark Good Lord to come for me
Winter burries all in death
as the cold hurries to chill my breath
and I feel the end coming on
and all the warmth leaves the dawn
Further on and over hill
we journey yon and hurry still
to beat the setting of the sun
when all time and life is undone
Beyond the gates we step into
a quiet gathering of fates shrouded in blue
They whisper softly about what is
as the Good Lord takes what is his
Softly down he lays me out
without sound I see him shout
call me to him and rest this soul
finally peaceful rest after what Love had stole
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