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Tears of September's Sunday
The land of the dead is endless silence,
Like the infinite hush of the cosmic
Where loved ones go to return never
Taking the journey of the last long road
And to rest with the minds of yesterday
When washed by tears of September's Sunday.
But thou my friend, live in our hearts
With thine mem'ries echoing softly
We wait and linger for that day to come,
When to death we say, where is thy sting?
And to Hades we shout, where is thy vict'ry?
On that golden morning we pray
To live with Whom our hearts desire,
In a land so pure, we retire.
© Yesterday Mailo
Like the infinite hush of the cosmic
Where loved ones go to return never
Taking the journey of the last long road
And to rest with the minds of yesterday
When washed by tears of September's Sunday.
But thou my friend, live in our hearts
With thine mem'ries echoing softly
We wait and linger for that day to come,
When to death we say, where is thy sting?
And to Hades we shout, where is thy vict'ry?
On that golden morning we pray
To live with Whom our hearts desire,
In a land so pure, we retire.
© Yesterday Mailo
