In search of meager serenity Cunning demons ever striding My arsenal of spirits shall haul me through the night
In clouded visions, in distorted dreams I’m out in the open, driven to the brink As the dead hill comes into view there is nothing inbetween
By the cruelty of nature By the madness of the sea She will settle for nothing less She will claim as she has given The Cormorant in the distance Blackwinged scout of Utrøst Standing tall, in lonely majesty like an ill-boding totem
Whispering birches Ancient soil of Suicide Across the field of thorns tearing up my old sores
Looking down that dismal road I shall never forget their faces So many a fellow lost hanging from the gallows pole Strangely, still connected Bound by an ageless ritual The blood of the traitors washed away with the morning tide
The Dweller of the Threshold reaching into his bag of tricks The song of the Yellow Jester an omen of the coming harvest
A passage to the clearing unfolds sacret stone formation The shadow of Ibex horns appear before my weary feet
Turning the familiar key open the door to my interior places As howling winds go silent I surrender to my sanctity In the chamber of reflections retracing my faltering steps Cheap Kalinka and kettle coffee rid my heart of these overgrown burdens
On the outside, the world is moving the same ugly ways as ever before Unbeknown to what resides beneath them and to what end their blood shall trickle
The old, mounted trophies are playing their games of mockery By the horned moon, breathing life into these devious paintings crafted by hands unknown
Much too real, as if immersed into a Dream within a Dream cease to live through the broken shards Blackout is a gift from belowTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
