Текст песни The Clockhand's Groaning Circles - The Ruins Of Beverast

The Clockhand's Groaning Circles

Clutching a giant laance of brass\nWithin a storm\nThat rushes silently\nThrough a hallway of mirrors\nDrafts and visions beform me\nPoisoned air burns into wounds:\nThe missing entrails —\nLeft behind\nWhen my waste\nWas creeping to life —\nHurt and bleed\nFestering from wounds\nThat time has torn\nThat brass feasts upon\n… in a rhytm, in a melody …\nDestructive and discordant\nAnd finally mute —\nWhen the eyes awake\nBehind the senile web …\nThese trembling hands\nWon’t save my ears\nFrom deafness\nThese crippled thoughts\nWon’t save my soul\nFrom death.