Not dead but dying English / Английский язык

Take my hand In the old "Theatre of seven Hells"; A ferry bowed its wings, that called "Moon by day". Life - a book in a foreign tongue that hurts our ears. Flowers of the end, their seeds shall grow. Your breath shall be my coat, The underworld is, oh, so cold. The dead don't feel the chill, But, please, hold me warm. The awful night has gone; What lay before we can't remember. Morpheus has drowned In the lament of a weeping shadow...