Silent, layest the dead feather'd
Drowsing in a cursed nether
With writing maggots crowned
On wailing burial grounds

Tread now, thence these shatter'd relics
Of a paradise forlorn
Flood'd by the tears of a phoenix
Where chaos is reborn

Thou art in thrall...
Fortuna shineth not, 'pon thee
Beloved souls of this withering sea
We bereave thee
Nonpareil tragedy, Mephisto wrought
A divine cure, we sought
Yet in this durance
Hope is naught

Oh. this acrid smell,
Where praying angels somberly fell
Walketh thee twixt broken wings
Where once perfumed the scents of spring

(Wayfarer)
As i enter the rigid gates
The town appeareth to be
Tainted by ill fate

The messiah covets our souls!

Arcane is the will of the divine
To exalt the darken'd swine
And now we shall bow in the mire
Yielding 'fore the blades desire

Thou art all in thrall...
Fortuna shineth not, 'pon thee
Beloved souls of this withering sea
We bereave thee
Nonpareil tragedy, Mephisto wrought
A divine cure, we sought
Yet in this durance
Hope is naught

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