Stood there leaning to the city moon,
|
casting silhouettes tall to grip her white rooms
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the black-clad voyeur in his black-clad masque
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in the serpentine sun of tragedy basked
|
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Stood there cursing at the soul-dead mass
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with their fabled illusions, the vain dreams that passed
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splinters of a life rushing by in the whirl
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alone, silent warrior in a fantasy world
|
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He cried for night / but night could not come
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so, swept in the shroud of misanthropia he went away
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and fed the empty galleries
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with the artifacts of the black rain
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sunken into the shadows with a dry, sardonic smile
|
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He made the footprints a part of his heart
|
to rouse a sacred confrontation
|
|
Stood there carving on the monument to lies
|
digging of the Earth, making friends with the soil
|
as the all-mother rises and bares her bleeding thighs
|
he disappears into her cold, icy womb
|
|
|
|
-----------------
|
artifacts of the black rain
|
| In Flames |
