Текст Theatre Of Tragedy – A Rose For The Dead

Oh — my dearest, the sweet music in the ear
Albeit, daresay I, the lullaby of an everso dark sleep

My precious
Likest thou what emergeth yon the distant?

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