1. |
No Isle Of Bliss
12:11
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No Isle of bliss here
Where Dreams have made their home
Shapeless, unseen, on the meadows grey
'Tween Sleep and Death I walk
Lost in the haze, lost among the souls
Where Dreams have made their home
I try to find my hope
Elysium denied
No grave to cradle my remains
I wait, I am my judge
A feeble statue rotting
Crumbling with age
A grieving figure, only I can see
Too many rivers crossed
Too many squandered coins
So many oceans sailed
But none has given me rest
Oh so many bridges burnt
So many nights wasted
So much poison sipped
Left only an empty vessel
To drift with the flow
Carried away into the mist
Astray forevermore
No Isle of Bliss ahead, just flames and cries
Down with the seed of Night I lay
With Pity, Old Age and Dreams I slept
Unable to forget, left only to regret
A mere impression of myself in Ereb's hands
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2. |
Time, The Devourer
10:10
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Countless beatings of the clock
Like whips biting cold through the years
And the rattling of teeth and bones
Ticking empty minutes, like millet grains
While age is drying my flesh
Like salty meat on your tongue
This sad day of birth, the day that father came,
Whitemare strode to her reign
Patiently and tenderly
Gnawing by bones, spitting regret
Washing it with a bitter wine
And I try to swallow my dignity
And I grow old with every second
I am in command,
I will prove the prophecy untrue
First ruler of my thoughts
Father and child killer
Devourer of hopes and future
Through centuries of doubts
In Tartarus bathed
I learn to hate my past
Murderous blood breeds murderous kin
Child slayer, father killer
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3. |
Les Oiseaux de Proie
10:00
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Je m’étais assis sur la cime antique
Et la vierge neige, en face des Dieux ;
Je voyais monter dans l’air pacifique
La procession des morts glorieux.
La terre exhalait le divin cantique
Que n’écoute plus le siècle oublieux,
Et la chaîne d’or du Zeus homérique
D’anneaux en anneaux l’unissait aux cieux.
Mais, ô passions, noirs oiseaux de proie,
Vous avez troublé mon rêve et ma joie :
Je tombe du ciel, et n’en puis mourir !
Vos ongles sanglants ont dans mes chairs vives
Enfoncé l’angoisse avec le désir,
Et vous m’avez dit : — Il faut que tu vives ! —
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4. |
To Rest At Last
06:26
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Drifting away, further and further still
Stars veiled cannot guide me
And I weather the storm
As my craft breaks upon the wave
This dying thirst I wish to quench
In your ice-cold lap
I need no map on this voyage
As I travel farther down into Neptune's nets
Oh how I wish to join the choir from the sea
The sands below, a softer bed
To rest at last, to drown my demons
The journey is endless, the wave relentless
My limbs are numb and I embrace Neptune's daughters
My last voyage, an odyssey of loneliness
Where is my crew? where are my dreams?
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5. |
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Mother of grief, father of solitude
Mother of grief, father of misery
Pain of solitude
The doleful threads give new meaning
And speak the pain of solitude
Facing the waves you wait, wasting away
Carried by the White Mares’ procession
Listening to the sound of dust
Like deafening prayers you try to hold on to
Mother of grief awake, bearing new life
As the needle tirelessly pierce the canvas
With every night a story’s born anew
And swept away with each passing dawn
Day after day, the picture fades
And you grow old, restless and cold
Your sorrow’s gone, adrift on another sea
Like a dream you had
Sleepwalking in the summer night
Watching it sail to dreadel isles
Memories like sand on a endless shore
Caressed by the soothing hands of the waves
Fall back to oblivion
Mother of old, lost to this world
A ghost stuck in musty tapestries
With every night a story’s born anew
And swept away with each passing dawn
Day after day, the picture fades
And you grow old, restless and cold
An Isle of Bliss for you, inside your head
A soothing dream to make your bed
Inside your head
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White Mare
Tragic heroes facing epic toils, yet so common to this mortal coil. Tragic and epic are indeed the most suitable
words to describe WHITE MARE’s music, crafted from mesmerizing
piano melodies, funebre riffs, and desperate leads.
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