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Theatre of Tragedy - On Whom the Moon Doth Shine
O soft embalmer of ye still midnight
Oh allow me thee to adown
Of any sort thou fancieth
Each holdeth it's 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 landd
And with the shadows blendd
The tendermost silken mourn
In which the light
Hidden is
Yon hell's brazen doors
Wrothfully it trieth to push
Then lo
The black death
Serpent like 'twixt the breasts crept
Hush'd with a gasp of life's breath of life's breath
Together red tears they wept they wept
And pass'd and pass'd the procession the procession
Of dancers dead
As in darkness as in darkness were we were we
Lock'd in wed
I kiss'd the seven angels of death
And hell
Open'd it's doors
Yet what was yet what was 'fore my eyes 'fore my eyes
But if not the brightest light
Brightest light brightest light
Hell
Brightest light
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