Painters of the Tempest - Part II - Ne Obliviscaris

Come forth dark herald

Bringer of light

Born by the burning swans and his plague breath

Creator of the dream coil, a halo aloft

As hands entwine

Painters of the tempest, with their red hands

The world their canvas

Through the mist of the stormglass

And Bruegel dreamt the angels above

As Bosch danced in earthly delight

Angels fall

Into the canvas

Reaching for the light

Heaven is empty

And all the beauty is here

Upon this bone palette

The sway of nine-tails

Layered lashings of euphoria and chaos

Triptychs unfold like wings

As the arms of our fathers bear the weight of what they’ve done

Anti-matter-martyrs

Warmth of life

Where they sing of fire

Children’s eyes, for they all shine

As tears rise, oceans of flame billow

When all dreams lose hope

And Bruegel wept for the fading sun

Where have all the angels gone?

Angels fall

Into the canvas

Reaching for the light

Heaven is empty

As hell below

And hell below

Painted by ghosts

Lords of lifeless eyes

In this garden of wilted flowers

Vultures spake the mother tongue

Hear the children

Breathless sleep

Where they dream a new day

Echoing

Oh when they dream

Ebb and flow, free falling

Beautiful and calm

And fragile, and whole

Where they dream a new day

Through the coil they course and carousel

Echoes

Hear the lost children

Hear the children sing

Through the coil they carousel

Within this stained glass womb

They sing with open minds

Within this stained glass womb

They see with open minds

The event horizon and beyond

A wasteland and so barren

Haunted by a sea of pale faces

The city of lost children

Raising their death-shrouded flags

Can you hear the redrum pounding?

The heartbeat of many as one

Curator, father, what have we become?

Radiance, blinding horizon

The brilliant sunrise

Their horizons, where they seize this life

Our children

Painters, they are

They are, the change

Painters