Life is a clay urn on the mantle And I am shattered on the floor Life is a clay urn on the mantle And I am scattered on the floor We are the wounds and
Here I sit at the fire Liquor's bitter flames warm my languid soul Here I drink alone and remember A graven life, the stain of her memory In this cup,
[Instrumental]
The birch tree in winter Leaning over the secret pool Is Narcissus in love With the slight white branches, The slim trunk, In the dark glass; But, Spring
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves, The brilliant moon and all the milky sky, And all that famous harmony of leaves, Had blotted out man's image and
Through vast valleys I wonder To the highest peaks On pathways through a wild forgotten landscape In search of God, in spite of man 'til the lost forsaken
When all is withered and torn And all has perished and fallen These great wooden doors shall remain closed. . . When the heart is a grave filled with
The jagged lines in these wooden hands Speak of a silent aeon below the depths Of an austere ebon tide For centuries kingdoms have risen Upon the ancient
[Sol Invictus cover] Give us our bread and bury our dead And kneel to the cross on the wall Whether burnt at the stake or drunk at the wake Just kneel
Kiss me coldly and drain this life from my lips Let the cold blood flow on it's own... Kiss me coldly and fall away from the soul Long forgotten...
Aurora swims in the ether Emerald fire scars the night sky Amber streams from Sol Are not unlike the waves of the sea Nor the endless horizon of ice Aurora
The water pours its embracing arms around the stone Decay drips from the unquiet void where the ice forms, where life ends The stone is by the crimson
...It was not long ago when I had fallen from this mortal world, lost in dream flight to pierce the horizon as a bird... Is this life the pillor I must
It was in this haunted place under a moonless cloak of ebony I was drawn to the glow of a young spiritess weeping in the woods The blackest ravens
