[performed by Spectral Lore]
An idea that made the soul stir
Words transformed into deeds
Deeds into ink, ink into memory
The embers became silent
A glorious day.
I curse you, Sun, for I know
You'll only rise, as long as you fall down again.
That night, I dreamt.
I laid down among the twigs
A passing stream appeared
Pleased, I left it engulf me
Yet, it receded into drought
As if it were never there.
A cold breeze awakens me.
The candle-light flickers violently.
Do I hold fate in my hands?
And if I do, is it like a bent wooden toy
That breaks, thrusting at a vision
Too great for its briefness
I have begun to feel vibrancy and warmth withdraw from my hands.
It is as if my vessel, not excluding the organs responsible for what is naively called the soul,
Is being dried out of life, naturally and completely peacefully.
Yet, I am still young.
This lyric was posted anonymously. Not yet confirmed by Book of Metal.
