Sad Sunday with hundred white flowers
You waited for my dear temple prayer
Sunday morning driving dreams
The swing of my grief came back without you
It has always been sad since Sunday
Tear is just my drink of bread to sorrow ...
Gloomy Sunday
My last dearest Sunday Sunday
He will also be a priest, a coffin, a raven, a mourning
You can still find flowers, flowers and coffins
My last path under flowering trees
My eyes will be open to be shot again
Do not be afraid to be dead to my eyes ...
Last Sunday