| The gaurdian of your death |
| . |
| Let me be the gravestone of your grave, |
| so that I can tell the world, |
| what they have lost. |
| . |
| Let me be the walls of your coffin, |
| so that I can shelter you, |
| when the darkness and silence deepen. |
| . |
| Let me be the lonesome bird by your deathbed, |
| so that I can sing to the land your songs, |
| read to life your thoughts. |
| . |
| Let me be the shadowy tree at your side, |
| so that I can bring to you shade, |
| when the light of sun burns gold. |
| . |
| Let me be the blooming flower at your grave, |
| so that when the world breaths my fragrance, |
| they will taste your scent. |
| . |
| Let me be the cool breeze, |
| blowing over your burnt heaven, |
| so that I can bring to you sweet zephyr. |
| . |
| Let me be the rain over your breast, |
| so that I can bathe your dreams, |
| and rinse away your tears. |
| . |
| Let me be there my friend, |
| let me always be there, |
| so that forever I can bring to you; |
| peace and content, |
| joy and love. |
| Let me be there, always, forever; |
| enchained in your love, |
| alive by your grave, |
| dead in my soul. |