The Cliff of Suicide - Gothica

When everything is bathed in colour

And a blinding golden path

Shines from the sky onto the sea

To the white shingle beach which is below you

Blood stains stand out every so often: red poppies

In your deep tomb, receive the young corpses

Of those who are tired of living, those who can’t find consolation

In the marvel of your sunsets

Wings flutter among the ears of wheat

Like the wind which ripples the sea

And vertically over it

There’s the cliff of suicide

On the water more blue than the sky