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lyrics
Measures of time, unknown are,
Amidst lone soul of Thine; benighted,
For sights, so empty; and dismal,
In endless shapes of night; cloaked.
Oh, palid cuss, accursed in stillness!
Yearning for the night, Thee'll call it day!
Seclusions, within the horrible warmth
Of candle fire's-damp, exist no longer,
For all suicidal trials, a parlous doorway; unsealed,
As blinded by a radiant-blue tranquil semblance,
A dream, a novel hillside in its sinister vividness
Wherein mystic pathways, awaits a journey
Towards cravings of Thine, for the theater of light.
A morbid chaotic dance, among all masks
Veiled in dissonant yellings, of vanishing faces.
Malicios was the act, bebothering upon Thy hands
For touched by Monstrosity's semblance of desolation,
A palid child-shape of antique and gloomy putrefaction,
Forever cruel be-nightmared, in Thine desperate refugee.
Roles there never been, now Thee knows
Into the sunlight theater's abstruse doom
As within the always abyss,
Darkness, to become a bliss
For all Thy eyes in light beheld
A mirror.
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