Текст (слова) песни: Theatre Of Tragedy - On Whom The Moon Doth Shine
"O soft embalmer of ye still midnight, Allow me thee to adown Of an sort thou fancieth; Each holdeth its own fancy, I say - Yet the pleasure we partake in Was caus`d by the fang`d grin, Save!, do I for him anger hold?: Nay - I knew I was fey!" "Had I what it taketh, I would do; I sense - I cannot sense, I am - yet! I am not - Once I kiss`d the image Of the Seven Angels of Death." "Yet as thou so didst, On my lips a kiss landed, And with the shadow blended The tendermost silken mourn; In whic h the light hidden is - Yon Hell`s brazen doors Wrathfully it trieth to push." "Then, lo! the Bleak Death, Serpent-like `twixt the breasts crept: Hush`d with a gasp of life`s breath, Together red tears they wept, And pass`d the procession of dancers dead - As in darkness were we lock`d in wed." "Hush`d with a gasp of life`s breath, Together red tears we wept - in vain, And pass`d the procession of dancers dead - As in darkness were we lock`d in wed: I kiss`d the Seven Angels of Death." "And Hell open`d its doors, Yet what was `fore my eyes But if not the brightest light." "Yet what was `fore my eyes But if not the brightest light."
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