I descend I descend again I closed my eyes and still these vistas rend
The waning sun... it's light so thing Sickly, these pale shafts press At a gruesome fog, an entangling torpor Stripping the fenland air of pellucidity Writhing chains of spiritual desolation reach And beckons a shattered soul back into darkness
As the soils part in welcome A riven aperture to embrace a sundered spirit Closing like a withered fist Around a frond of pale tissue
Weak - so very weak Cold - frozen to the marrow Encased by the frost of loathing I have nothing left to give
Even my flesh presents naught A cross-stitched tapestry of past failings Pallid vessel of spiritual exsanguination Home to the dread-stare of these listless eyes
Each sordid limb a tendril of pain A beacon of suffering, a spite of torment Aflame with gangrenous agony This hemisphere of decrepitude demands extinction
Extinguish me
Yearning for ending
I beg for the embrace of the fens A final resting place - marked only by a henge of dead trees
The cathedral stands, omniscient A memorial to all those who walked within these shadows
Unmoved by the toil of the lost Who sink without markings into the fathomless murkTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
