A winding path in a quiet and cold storm.
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It ascents higher and higher to an abyssal summit,
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Abrupt ravines where sink the grounded souls,
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The spirits tortured by the fire, the blood, the desire,
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The dishannonic and intoxicating music of the impious cries,
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The chorus of a dark etemal church,
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The love which dies in a nauseous rale,
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Vomiting her last sweetness in a melodic and proud crescendo,
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Led through the transparent and fantastic colours,
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The priest hears his last prayer
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under the broken vault of this stonework which vibrates into
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What it Is Not And Will Soon No More BE,
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Insufflating him its dying fluid
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which curdles under the rhythm of the requiem.
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The piercing screams are at the apogee,
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The fusion of the universe implodes under the pressure of the tears,
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The howls are near,
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I feel her breath beneath the trees,
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And let me lay on the damp grey grass,
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Her perfume is sinking into and I indulge
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Ethereal Visions Part II
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Aes Dana |