A Rose For The Dead - Theatre Of Tragedy

My precious

Likest thou what emergeth yon the distant?

The throbbing and breathing of life’s machinery!

-- wanion its oh so damndest soul!

-- with the devil-instrument it we shall reap

-- after the banquet obscur’d in our thole

-- its blood so lovingly across our faces smear

-- lord of carnage

Lady of carnage

-- one funeral maketh many

Swarm god’s acres;

-- two indeed more:

-- blest treat of delight —

Give praise for the blood it bled

Grant a rose for the dead!

-- grant a rose for the dead!

Enraptur’d by the timeless beauty of the

Shadowsphere

We two abide the overlook’d time of the watch

-- make this cherish’d feast last

-- but until the new dawn ascendeth

Be still — harken the lure of night!

Bale in each its damndest shadow

Cloth me in night, ne’er fell rue

In its face, behold!

naught save grue

Pray, ne’er come hither daylight!

-- wane to dust the wight

Velvet darkness, thee we ourselves bestow!

-- misery it in velvet fright