(Cadence Of) The Dirge Testo

all hope for loving died

greying haze of the
autumn skies
stone cold hearts retract
amongst the knives
within a dream that
commits itself to grief
resurrected by a black
wreath...

why?
where?
how?

heaving sob-seizures
roused by the view
of true love embalmed in a
box
grovel, beg, plead for a
sign, but never mind
'cause bliss is now a word
left far behind

bliss buried in a sepulchre
customized
by the hand of rage
the birth of a violent age
reminds all that
abstinence makes the
heart grow floundering

perish the memory
scream in agony
love is late, love is late

a sorrow-raising surge
lies in the cadence of the
dirge