Candlemass

Mark how our shadow, mark Movits mon fre're
one small darkness encloses
How gold and purple that shovel there
to rags and rubbish disposes
Charon beckons from tumultous waves
then trice this ancient digger of graves
for thee ne're grapeskin shall glister
wherefore my Movits come help me to raise
a gravestone over our sister
Even deserous and modest abode
under the sighing branches
where time and death, a marriage forebode
'twixt beauty and ugliness ashes
To thee ne're jealousy findeth her way