My Dying Bride For My Fallen Angel

As I draw up my breath, And silver fills my eyes. I kiss her still, For she will never rise. On my weak body, Lays her dying hand. Through those meadows of Heaven, Where we ran. Like a thief in the night, The wind blows so light. It wars with my tears, That won t dry for many years. Loves golden arrow At her should have fled, And not Deaths ebon dart To strike her dead.