Which door, she had asked, as she tenderly wept
In which door will your soul be kept?
Would he follow the one towards her ray of light
Or be lost forever in this cold, dark plight.
Could he live a life filled with happiness again
Break free of this darkness that shackled him?
He looked up again at her smiling face
His white dove, his life, his lady of grace.
Which door, she asked again, to die or to live?
With a smile, he replied, to live.