Lacrimosa

Listen to Lacrimosa, the 8th track on Mozart's Requiem plays adagio (slow) than Dies Irae, a faster-paced composition.  The track counts up to more than two minutes of chorus and orchestral symphony. 

Here are my words to Mozart's composition, which I've imagined as I listened to the music:

Lacrimosa

O Lord, speak to me from above,

Helping me aside from the whole,

He murmurs with a breath of soft blow,

Hush — Hush—

Bang——Be Quiet—

Bang——Be Still—

Bang——Be Silent—

Amen — Pray, Kneel —

Why do I reckon on to you for the key,

Rosetta stone to settle the last breath,

But, lull, O’ the bloom buds fall down,

O’ dangle down and on, fluttering slowly on,

O’ Flurries, O’ flurries, they lag behind on earth,

Not only winds blow, O they blow of Notus,

Blow out— Huff, Puff —Blow out,

But west winds of Zephyrus,

Wail— Wheeze—Wail—Whoop,

The season brews its tears,

The season weeps its tears,

Alas, speak to me, O Lord,

Speak to me, O lord,

O, why can’t I drown out,

By the means of the lower region,

Clamor of cries of thousands’ heads below?

The chirring whimper, cries of those below,

In the lower world of the Acheron below,

The seasons go on,

Sheds its tears,

Moan — sheds all Laburnum’s buds,

Fall severally, each piece, by inch,

Starkly disrobed, void,

Unveil its frail mod,

The trees too, close and near,

Sloughs off all of its leaflets,

They crawl, lag, and decelerate,

Now only naked and bare,

Bald and barren, shamelessly brazen,

Because the seasons shed all of their tears,

Thereupon, earth’s floor is clothed,

In thousands, in millions, in trillions,

Quintillions, sextillions, septillions,

Octillions, nonillions, decillions,

Pouring the last of the buds,

Showering the world, under one orb,

Across the globe, under the orb,

Blurredly saturate globe,

Pigments of lipstick in rouge,

While the season stick to whirl and wheeze,

Moan — blow chirring whine,

Then suspire to the final fallen buds,

In falsettos, trebles, shrills, I can hear.