Theatre Of Tragedy - A Rose For The Dead

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My precious
Likest thou what emergeth yon the distant?
The throbbing and breathing of life’s machinery!
-- wanion its oh so damndest soul!
-- with the devil-instrument it we shall reap
-- after the banquet obscur’d in our thole
-- its blood so lovingly across our faces smear
-- lord of carnage
Lady of carnage
-- one funeral maketh many
Swarm god’s acres;
-- two indeed more:
-- blest treat of delight —
Give praise for the blood it bled
Grant a rose for the dead! -- grant a rose for the dead!
Enraptur’d by the timeless beauty of the
Shadowsphere
We two abide the overlook’d time of the watch
-- make this cherish’d feast last
-- but until the new dawn ascendeth
Be still — harken the lure of night!
Bale in each its damndest shadow
Cloth me in night, ne’er fell rue
In its face, behold! naught save grue
Pray, ne’er come hither daylight! -- wane to dust the wight
Velvet darkness, thee we ourselves bestow! -- misery it in velvet fright