Kiss me coldly,
And drain this life from my lips.
Let the cold blood flow on it's own.
Kiss me coldly,
And fall away from the soul.
Long forgotten...
From which of this oak shall I hang myself?
These ebony halls are always dark.
From which frostbitten bough shall I die?
As dark as the winter,
As black as her ghastly veil,
As cold as her whisper,
And chilling gown.
No corridors of life and beauty,
These enchanted halls are stained
with the blood of night.
Ebony halls gleam
as ghosts of a fire.
Dance wickedly across
a pantheon of marble...
These weary eyes shall open no more,
Frozen tightly by the cold embrace of death.
A charnel house of memories torn
and burning melancholy shall embrace
me now.
Hear this call...
Beyond endless halls and
far across the vast forest,
Just across the iron gates,
Whispers...
As dark as the winter,
As black as her grim mask of death,
As cold as her sorrow,
Her ivory tears.
No corridors of life and beauty.
No bloodred sky.
No colors left in this world.
It was the light's end.
Album: Pale Folklore
Year: 1999