as i dream about movies they won't make of me when i'm dead - Post a comment

Gloomy Sunday

"On a sad Sunday with a hundred white flowers I was waiting for you, my dear, with a church prayer That dream-chasing Sunday morning The chariot of my sadness returned without you. Ever since then, Sundays are always sad Tears are my drink, and sorrow is my bread. Sad Sunday. Last Sunday, my dear, please come along, There will even be priest, coffin, catafalque, hearse-cloth. Even then flowers will be awaiting you, flowers and coffin. Under blossoming (flowering in Hungarian) trees My journey shall be the last. My eyes will be open, so that I can see you one more time Do not be afraid of my eyes as I am blessing you even in my death. Last Sunday."