I visit you on the moors, to give you grief
I place mistletoe on the grave, top it with a wreath
Why did you need to go? It was Christmas
But I wasn't there to see it, I missed it
Nowadays, the only way I see you is this place
An image is framed and stares back -- your face
Should I steal it away, to give you better rest,
Or should I go away, maybe for the best?