I doubt I shall ever come back
|
Moving thin and wane, an old danger
|
A thorn am I with sunken back
|
I am the enemy of you, traitor.
|
And the world cold. I'm still on track
|
Your heart so cruel - mine is greater.
|
|
It is the sky that bleeds my name
|
And in it's breath my heart's contained
|
I watched you fleeing from my ruin
|
A scent of blood is your undoing
|
Through oak that groan under the rain
|
Under my feet, the world arcane
|
In suffering I was always right
|
Within the silver moon tonight
|
From my lips the word is sung
|
And in this voice thy will be done
|
|
A great show of fear
|
Fear that I am near
|
And very far is dawn
|
'Twas such a promising morn
|
Come, look back at me
|
I sense you on the breeze
|
The fall from your throne
|
This is all I need
|
|
Tell me what remains
|
A hunger within yourself?
|
So many miles before I sleep
|
Your truth is weak
|
Are those tiny rivers
|
Down your rosy cheek?
|
|
Laid out against the sky
|
In the corners of the night
|
Falling from my mouth
|
The words of punishment
|
I will make you see
|
Your traffic of misery
|
|
It is my sins that you deplore
|
Count them fair, for I have more
|
To my mouth I carry you
|
In crimson teeth, the breath I drew
|
|
I make you dust, as you were flesh
|
Honoured to see a performance in death
|
We have no time, no time at all
|
There's empty rooms and shadowing halls
|
|
Fevering thoughts all hollow and old
|
Shivering veins now running cold
|
When dawns were young and woodland green
|
And silvery moons as often seen
|
|
In Hawsker dark is where you came
|
And tore the night asunder
|
My master at your knife to blame
|
And wove his eyes with thunder
|
|
To Nor' east, just along the coast
|
Your colleague of the scars
|
Takes pen to quote the pirates ghost
|
A lesson from those Tsars
|
|
Justice done with dark blood and scum
|
I'm torn toward the North
|
From Northern moors they know I'll come
|
So Whitby is the source!
|
|
Where you would sit and wait for me
|
I arrive at Saltwick Bay
|
Ans so you shall taste my grief
|
Drawing the cut, I'm away
|
|
My form is bloody and it is true
|
It is the night I wear around me
|
From lies I grew a spit of untruth
|
I help the frail sky to its sleep
|
Nameless, I come and without end
|
Within the moor and without end.
|
|
-----------------
|
The Barghest O' Whitby
|
| My Dying Bride |
