In the land far away, many years ago,
Lived a gorgeous woman, black from top to toes,
To her castle dark and high, in my days of yore,
I used to come and sing to her Le Chanson d'amour.
Beneath the window with my guitar, to her I sang a song,
She was mine and I was hers, that love was fierce and strong,
But in my bliss I didn't know that something was so wrong,
Death took her away, but to me, I wept, she had to belong.
No comfort I could find, this world is the cruel place,
Life is just a shabby masquerade and death is a grace,
Everything lost sense to me, except her pale face.
In my chamber, opaque sorrow consumed me once more,
Within my wrathful grief, I see blood and tears dripping on the floor,
Drip, drip, drip, my last breath, and Le Chanson d'amour.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem