The beautiful odour of October winds
gently caress me with it's benevolent hands,
yet so dark and gloomy in it's soul
It permeates my intense heart with silent delight
How I do love the passion of fading away

the passion of dying…

For it is Death herself who sweeps the landscape,
embracing a lost world in shades and vapour

I will never forget the dread of November,
her grievance and stillness of lonely nights
The desire of heart, in minor adorned,
dancing so gently as dim northern lights

How I do love this pleasant seclusion,
this old bitter-sweet feeling,
the passion of solitude

O' my frozen Queen of December nights
let me transcend into a sleep without dreams,
let me wither in your cold white arms…