Nothing in this world can be as immaculate and pure as the love of us Cold Ones for the dead. Our love lives only in those fleeting moments of recollection... - memories we're fearing to forgot.

Our love knows neither kiss or touch, we are embracing dust, air or ourselves when visualizing what we've lost. Awoken by a sound or scent, some visions call sad phantoms, floating, wrapped in fading colours - our lament.

And then there is the all-devouring dread:
"some day I might not bring him back. When my feeble mind can't help but lose the contours of his face".
Lost forever, lone and sad, gone forever to the dead ...- so far beyond the barriers of the opposite s___e.

Yet, alas, despite it all ...
walking through these deserted halls ...
It's easy ... still ... to love the dead...-
It's easier to love the dead.

See also:
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The Young Knives Weekends and Bleakdays Lyrics