Wistfully

We haven't loved each other...on the shrine's hay,
mortal and mad godess,
we were preparing uour pagan ritual
to the final burning togheter.

We haven't loved each other... the first ones on the earth,
in the garden bathed by the moon,
we were waiting for a wind blow,
to be reborn from clay togheter.

We haven't loved each other... only when the moon wishpered to us so softly: "good night..."
melancholic, as a mistery, we were dreaming
to die once upon a time togheter.