Fourth Maiden: O Lady, woe is in me for your woe,
My words are like a song
Of old which mourners in the far-off East
Chant for the dead, reciting only death,
A requiem of hell,
A wail of no returning and no hope,
Using no note of glory,
Only the desolation of the grave.
My words are like a song
Of old which mourners in the far-off East
Chant for the dead, reciting only death,
A requiem of hell,
A wail of no returning and no hope,
Using no note of glory,
Only the desolation of the grave.
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