| Open the gates of the graveyard. | |
| Where corpses rest like layers. | |
| In glorious flying thunder comes the courier of death. | |
| Moor his black horse's tail. | |
| Around my thin neck. | |
| Let me fly beneath his wings. | |
| I am dead. | |
| Hangman's noose is not a prophecy. | |
| Hangman's noose is the laughter of death. | |
| Life is abundant in fantasy. | |
| Giving birth to death. | |
| Ending one's secret life. | |
| Ending one's mortal existence. | |
| Have no fear. | |
| Heaven and Hell are here. | |
| Let my few hairs blow in the burning wind. | |
| Don't keep up one's appearance. | |
| Oldness and youth are just a game. | |
| Send a letter to the mortals saying as pleasant is the grave. | |
| Hangman's noose is not a prophecy. | |
| Hangman's noose is the laughter of death. | |
| Life is abundant in fantasy. | |
| Giving birth to death. | |
| Ending one's secret life. | |
| Ending one's mortal existence. | |
| Mortal reason to abandon this life. | |
| Full of horror at first sight. | |
| Nobody escapes from this deathlike fate. | |
| Till again I hear the wind through the gates. | |
| Nameless graves rest emptiness. | |
| Living beings dislike this vast sadness. | |
| Dramatic vision of the procession of the dead. | |
| It's rather sad we can't rise from the dead. |
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