The dying sun gleamered in the west br Painting bloody hues of abstract br And that paints are painted best br When all senses betray the fact. br Then it is the Soul of my Soul br br Soon the stars sparkled high br Upon the velvet veil br With the ghostly moon sighing sighs br Althroughout the slowing sail. br It is the Soul of my Soul br br But quick gray clouds gathered armies br Wiping the lights away br Howling winds like rushing bees.