The winds of Sunday told us
Where we could find hell
To behold the morning after
The poor in spirit lies
Artemisia, please teach us
To preserve the withered flies
The winds of Sunday told us
Where we could find hell
The leaves of October told them
That we scrutinized it well
Please teach us to preserve the withered flies
Where we could find hell
To behold the morning after
The poor in spirit lies
Artemisia, please teach us
To preserve the withered flies
The winds of Sunday told us
Where we could find hell
The leaves of October told them
That we scrutinized it well
Please teach us to preserve the withered flies