No headstone will mark our passing No mourners shall pay tribute No tithes to those who surrender to blackness No offerings for those entombed in this barren land
The bells toll only within the strata of lost ages Earth, death, time and sorrow our parting hymns The circle has no end - our solace, no beginning Peace is only found in these unheralded, desolate kingdoms Withing the silence of the soils Amongst the mass grave of the forgotten
Cemeteries forged in peat A cenotaph of bog oak Shivering flesh cupped in the shriveled claws of the fenland mausoleum Welcomed by a womb of cold earth Coiling like a foetus, I succumb to the silence Amputating the senses Embracing a well of oblivion
I yearn to dissolve into the infinite Where past, present and future are bereft of meaning Where each echo of my torrid material self Drips slowly into a sink hole of desolation Where each reflection of the flesh Causes a tidal surge of misery
A patchwork of memories floats before my mind's eye And it is with the gratitude of a lifetime I witness them fade Dissipating and drifting as morning mists Eradicated for all time
I pray for nothingness My starved will craves void And in this stark cradle of dead fen-flesh I have found solace I have found my reward I have found release I have found my blessed deathTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
