Sopor Aeternus Not dead but dying Lyrics

Take my hand in the old 'Theatre Of Seven Hells';
a ferry that bowed its wings,
we call HER: 'Moon by Day'.
Life - a book in painful tongue that hurts our ears.
Flowers of the end, their seed shall grow.
Your breath shall be my coat,
the underworld is - oh - so cold.
The dead don't feel chill,
but please, hold me warm.
The aweful night has gone; what lay before... -
we can't remember.
Even Morpheus has drowned in the lament
of his own weeping shadow...