Losing night in a race to hate morning when a lonely child loses it to the moon now we're all carrion, rotting here at the gates to another empty paradise
I have been forever building pyres in my mind. Gathering fallen limbs of masters past 'til mind's eye finally fades out; blinded by final death of the Root. I shall gather my strength amongst the remnants of my kin and build a bonfire against the eternal, twisting night. The never ending frost plumed night.
I shall raise nought but sparks against the coal shrine pitch, but as we gather here against the end, those sparks will grid our honour. Sparks to kindling to roaring flame, pyres of the mind starting up again. Death may be inevitable, but we can at least ride his trail, grim determination as fortification - dancing through the mires, raising surprised rainbows against the night.
All coiled as serpents gathering to strike at the light. One last dance amongst the embers. To lay down with the others before the dawn should chance to come. For this blood, the end of the line.
Would you hear me? Carrion, wanderer. Echoing chamber of void.
So it's an endless funeral, or so it would seem. It's all furnace flames and clods of earth and endless weeping. Oh the fucking weeping. I could almost cry.
All the mourners and their mournings; all black veils and emotion unveiled. Shut up and get in the ground. The worms aren't complaining - they'll make a hearty meal of yours.
...and the rest of you, I'm sure. Get in the fucking ground.
I'll take up a shovel and hazard a grin. If you don't yet know the drill, well i'll fill you in. It's a dark old life on the whole, so step right up and down you go.
Misplaced apology nailed to contradiction - I'm not worshiping that! A life spent seeking balance; perhaps my spirit's just not level. Always angling towards Hell. Catch of the day not worth a glance past nightfall.
Dancing with the Devil whilst throwing money to the spirit lenders. Sale or return you can keep it. This is not a percentage decrease in decomposition.
You can dance around my tombstone all you like but I'll be grabbing your fucking ankle as and when I please.
I may not be the lord of the dance you ridiculous cunts, but I'll have my tuppence worth, don't you worry. One for each eye if you please.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
