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In the leafy shades of a wildwood, |
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reflections of a distant light |
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A tempting celestial song |
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calling into the light leading to the sky |
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Somber, so very intense, kneeling to the ground |
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Gripe the soil! It turns into dust. |
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Desperate fingers grasping, nothing. |
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Escaping the vision so horrid |
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Wandering through a meadow of grass |
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On the misty ground sits a raven |
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Staring silently in despise, it speaks: |
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Denizen of demons path, inhabitant of ground at last |
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Never fear the horned pact, |
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be a part in the immense essence of life! |
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We are the organ pipes of living frailty: |
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A voice in the dark, so strong yet so fragile |
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Now touch the serpent's tongue and feel a true relief! |
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The flower must wither, the flower must die |
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We are the organ pipes of living frailty: |
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A voice in the dark, so strong yet so fragile |
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Now touch the serpent's tongue and feel a true relief! |
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The flower must wither, the flower must die again |
