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Come close to me,

let us stroll beneathe the trees.

There's not much left of me,

winter's frost is wearing me.

Cold lips burn flesh to fire.

The noose is hanging higher.

The last strum of the lyre.

Suffer not, I retire.

Sibyl Vane, you mean the world to me.

Please, lend me all your hate.

So i may one day, feel you pain

Where would I go?

I would not know

To feels your arms around me, yet

Where would I go?

Sibyl Vane, you mean the world to me.

Please, lend me all your hate.

So i may one day, feel you pain

Where would I go?

I would not know

To feels your arms around me, yet

Where would I go?