Sweetheart, don't rush; for us

Have you heard the whispers in the whooshes of the air?

bout' the temple, stands alone outside the town

Haunted, cursed or worse

bout' the girl; stands away from the crowd with head down

Crumbled yet alive but hearsed

Thee apt to favour both,

But sweetheart don't rush

The sacrificed souls took away their peace,

Wailing moan heard there every dead of night, God-forsaken pleace

It was hope which turned it into a house of terror,

Still thy kind eye saw it elsewhat of horror 

Though you can't live the dead, thee will be in loss

Sweetheart, this time I beg you to not rush

(to that temple, to my heart)