作词 : Current 93, Tibet
  He crouches on the floor, there's a mask on the wall
 And he leafs, through the pages of a book
 But wait as he may in the shadow of other leaves
 His heart, in embraces to times long since scorched
 
 The horizont folds over, with a purpose sun rise
 And the wind, carry smoke, from a earth that is burning
 The smoke clogs in his hair, and he's covered with patterns
 And a decent, of life trees, on his camouflaged soul
 With a winter of memories, carved ponder bone white
 Beyond his sculls for, a scorpion lies
 In the crunch of the snow, as his darkness increases
 A twilight of ice, encircles his teeth
 
 This is a song for Douglas, after he's dead
 This is a song for Douglas, his mercury dances
 
 There's a swastika carved, in the palm of his hand
 There's a crooked cross, that is caught in his mind
 There waits a falling sun, in his eyes
 There's the honor, of violence, on his lips
 His father waits for him, in the towers of silence
 Where they worship the fires, so long ago cringed
 But the two willow trees, with el has inverted
 The fork of life snapped
 They are father and son
 So mingling dust, as if life itself, had been mostly illusion
 But parchly real
 And parchly pain
 
 And over some wall, if you look through rebels
 Amongst ruins of churches, where life conquers death
 Thou empires can not last, where blood and concepts
 The folted and failed
 A cloud still sow his teeth
 As the world disappears
 
 This is a song for Douglas, after he's dead
 This is a song for my Douglas, his mercury dances