The Unquiet Grave - L'Orchestra Cinematique

My breast it is as cold as clay,

My breath is earthly strong;

And if you kiss my cold clay lips,

Your days they won’t be long.

How oft on yonder day, sweetheart.

Where we were wont to walk,

The fairest flower that ever I saw

Has withered to a stalk.

When will we meet again, sweetheart?

When will we meet again?

When the autumn leaves that fall from trees

Are green and spring up again.