Emp'r'r [MODERN ENGLISH VERSION]

Emp'r'r

thy kindness madeth me bloom—

liketh a did rise in a sunday moon,

mine own heart explodes.

i wanteth thee near, but near thee may not be—

i combated f'r thy kingdom,

but mine own owneth is doom'd.

"i've hath followed mine own holidam,"

i whisp'r,

as blood flows through mine own hands,

holding a did wind yond shall nev'r close—

yond shall nev'r feeleth the gentle toucheth

of thy fing'rtips,

to slinketh mine own did hurt hence.

"i'll misseth thee," i croak

as mine own f'rm stumbles,

falling to mine own hams with a caterwauling.

mine own tear-fill'd eyes behold to the skies,

wh're nothing remains—

but the big moon,

staring backeth at me.

"oh, lief," the moon starts,

"you're a brave soul, aren't thee?"

"i hath tried,"

mine own weak but stubb'rn voice answ'rs—

liketh a chant, impossible to f'rget.

"relax anon, mine own dear…"

those gents speaketh,

a sweet, soothing balm

on mine own rotting soul.

the weaken'd corse i did owe

but soft slips—

falling to mine own side,

then anon on mine own backeth.

staring at the moon.

and the moon backeth at me.

"you'll shineth once again, love… doth not fret."

as those w'rds washeth ov'r mine own feareth,

mine own eyes' windows flutt'r—

giving up in grief, and stubb'rnness…

i welcometh the sweet embrace of death

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Emperor

Your kindness made me bloom—

Like a rose in a Sunday moon,

My heart explodes.

I want you near, but near you may not be—

I fought for your kingdom,

But my own is doomed.

"I've followed my oath,"

I whisper,

As blood flows through my hands,

Holding a wound that will never close—

That will never feel the gentle touch

Of your fingertips,

To slink my hurt away.

"I'll miss you," I croak

As my form stumbles,

Falling to my knees with a cry.

My tear-filled eyes look to the skies,

Where nothing remains—

But the big moon,

Staring back at me.

"Oh, dear," the moon starts,

"You're a brave soul, aren't you?"

"I tried,"

My weak but stubborn voice answers—

Like a chant, impossible to forget.

"Relax now, my dear…"

They speak,

A sweet, soothing balm

On my rotting soul.

The weakened body I owed

Slowly slips—

Falling to my side,

Then soon on my back.

Staring at the moon...

And the moon back at me.

"You'll shine once again, love… do not fret."

As those words wash over my fear,

My eyelids flutter—

Giving up in grief, and stubbornness…

I welcome the sweet embrace of death.

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