|
WHERE SHE WEPT LYRICS
"The Erotic Portrait" (2004 EP)
1. Octobris
2. Cloaked In Dusk
3. The Wooden Bird
4. Religious Art
1. Octobris
My pain is real
You can't see
What I feel
My faith is strong
I did no wrong
Faith is docile
Sickness is subjective
Interpreted healing
Would you pray for me?
For I'm sick of you
I saw you cry
I shut your eyes
Why didn't I try?
It's not my place
Now, see His face
He's yours now, Lord
Take him to the kingdom
I'll wait here for you
Come for me when you please
I'll be on my knees
It'll be a year in October
2. Cloaked In Dusk
Lost in a velvet dream
I search with sorrow transcending
My tears, as if like wine
Stain the heart of thine
With thy lust or love thee forsake
May it be unveiled before I wake
In truth my breathe I cast thee
For thou worry doth fate not forsee?
What doth ye see from there?
I hope it is something better
In those walls so far away
I hear the screams
Her wretched life wane not lest to hope belied
Hark!
The night cometh, thine guilt be nether
With lust thee adorn thee behest a devour!
I know this should not be
But I'm lost in you
I know I can't be free
But I'm lost in you
Without shame, I beareth thy name
This pride leaves them bereft of might
Naught the loudest foul taketh my apostacy
Tho with you not I must die!
I need more than what you've carved for me
For a moment we fly away
Stained now is our skin
We have become the hunted
In the chase many will come
For into the night, we will run...
3. The Wooden Bird
Wherefore dost thy love cry?
Smite not the bearer of this love bereaved
Thus the non entity
Naught deemest me the praise of thy heart
Just when existence came
Did I see my life gone
Make me not as they saw me
But as I saw myself
Be it thy philosophy
Or an image of hope
Lost on the margin of foreboding eyes
The love of mine, they taketh
An ill fated demise, they maketh
Be it thee to find, I searcheth
For this revenge, I rageth on
Under a sky of phosphorescence
The fire imposeth upon
Sombre ornamented in yore
The verses of revenge
shall burn my lips
In theatric sequence may I star
Nay a performance relegated to one
But to all people of stories
Forgiveness is reserved for the weak
Whence a man's soul hath taketh?
Becometh another man's comedy
Tho the jester bringeth thee laughter
May vengeance sprout from his follies
So whom doth laugheth now?
I cometh for you
Thy future I narrate
"Tis the peasant a beggar?"
Quoth me then,
"For thy blood I beg thee!"
I walketh on in my brazen travel
Mightest not a claim of defeat be brought
Wherefore doth thy fate then cast?
O'er then deemest me broken?
As though sensing to be left aghast
Thence thou wilt an anguish conspire
To claim thee the fool
For I was broken long ago!
For thou hobby
Now my passion
Now my heirloom
Whereas to resign to the cynics bellow
As if a wooden bird cannot fly
I need no more than what you carved for me
For a moment we flew away
4. Religious Art
|
|
