Call Of The Weird. 26. 02. 03

            - to my last follower -

Epigraph:    Thy serene days are gone, thy bright dreams are inhumed
Though thou seldom were wrong, now accept thyself doomed
On the land where thou wend no one cares 'bout thy woe
Every first's not a friend; every second's a foe

So, do you remember the nightside eclipse?
The sensual warmth and the shivering lips?
Are you still re-living that broken embrace?
What else really holds you in your desert place?

The dust of eternity curling in youth
The shades of the fallen who trusted in sooth
For too many drab years you wander alone
The passion is lost but the river rolls on

The forest in autumn, the echoing haze -
Your memory draws to surrender the craze
But yet on the wind just the ashes of time
The realm of silentium's covered with rime

The heavens are blackened for you and for us
We searched for the sanctity there but alas
Now only with chaos we are overwhelmed
At our frantic funeral feast of the damned

Let's dance hard beside the lethiferous stream
This world is not worth you, don't strive to redeem
The sunset of age is the edge of your ache
Burn down and rise up in the freezing opaque!

The weird is set in - be baptized by the gloom
In rage and desire to blind and consume
The thunder is calling, come on, ride the gale
And merge with the grace of the saturnine veil

There are the preceptors you tried to obtain -
The dwellers of mist and the healers of pain
Your heart cried for something that's buried beneath
Forget. And the rain will wash out all your grief

The new dawn is grim - catch the steel tocsins' knell
Our sabbath goes on with the music of hell
The past life is severed - no more aftermath
Our spirits are free like the ravens of death