They lasted as long as a spark shines
but their shining was so bright
that it was caught forever
in the spectre of time.
What was a fact became a legend
what was reality became a faded canvas
in the mausoleum of civilizations.

Landscapes of untold antiquity
unchanged are calling
to an orgy of colours and shapes
in a drunkenness with pure fantasy

Their names cause awe and awake
forgotten senses

The eerie valley of Pnath
The majestic Lemuria
Sarnath the doomed...
and names that echo
in the labyrinths and the cavernous
depths of chaos
Mystic Places of Dawn

Maybe we, ourselves want to forget
helping the truth to grow old
and be deformed from the wrinkles
of uncertainty
Afraid where the path backwards will
lead us
we prefer to be protected
under the shelter of ignorance

He who stares back
through the glass of centuries
will also see his reflection.

The eerie valley of Pnath
The majestic Lemuria
Sarnath the doomed...
And names that echo
In the labyrinths and the cavernous
depths of chaos
Mystic Places of Dawn

The mist unfolds its veil
as the night falls in the forest
The moisty wind forces the trees
to sing their sorrow.
For centuries they are standing still
like a petrified dream.
Trapped bodies in a wooden web,
tall towers of another epoch.

This sweet melancholy
that is brought by the precious memory
The Pale Beauty of the Past
is kept in the whisper of the wind.

Only the fragile heart
can understand the charm of the old.
The best things in life are those we can't
have yet, still we hope.
Blessed will be the day
when the circle will be complete.
Then the song of the muse will be heard
again the mourning of the trees will stop.

This sweet melancholy
that is brought by the precious memory
The Pale Beauty of the Past
lost in the vortex of time.

When the fields are red
like a crimson robe
and the name of the "King" who wears
this robe is man
the waves of wrath have been released
to drown the "sinister" and different.

Noble causes sink in oceans of bodies
where flesh and steel is one.
Memories of Ancient Wars
remove the frozen bonds of time.

Return to Carthage
Ages have passed
and "savage" hordes have bowed
to the "true" Gods.

Glory is a whore that seduces even a
priest but few are those who taste her
kiss upon the piles of those that she
betrayed.

Return to Carthage
in bitter irony
the proud city lies raped.

Gods of order, Gods of chaos:
"Till the next time,
when our pawns will move again
in the fields of our endless battle"...

The sand beneath your feet
a yellow carpet in
the palace of wilderness
Only king and servant is you
searching for the pyramid
that guards the emerald board

It was a crescent moon
when you have been initiated
in the science of the black earth,
And the optimism of youth
pushed you in quests
into the paper worlds
of the libraries of Cairo

Crescent Moon
Two sides of the same coin
The poor in mind are satisfied
with what they see.

Crescent Moon

And they bear the sign of imperfection
because they miss the other side
the invisible.

Crescent Moon

Few words carved with diamond
could draw the curtains
that cover the glassy cage of senses
The warm touch of the starlight
(magnes) will be the proof
and the philosopher's stone your trophy

Grab the golden rope and climb
the imaginary walls of your thoughts
you may fall but at least you'll have tried

My mood is like the weather
it changes with unexpected ways
creating a mosaic
based on the antithesis
of cold and warm colours

If you could read in my eyes
you would discover a shade of grey
when I smile
because even when (I am) collecting
moments of happiness
my mind descends in my shrine
to pray in front of the candle of life.

And its flesh parts are slowly melting
slipping down like white worms.

(The) walls around are decorated
with nailed butterflies.
Each one a happy thought,
pretty but old and lifeless.

The thirst for joy is never gratified
only grows as pain is interrupting
our wishes
and "help" us learn through an alphabet
of scars.

Melancholy ascended in the surface
knowing that she'll have forever a lair
in the underwater garden.
Serene the azure body that filled
the landscape crowled as ever.

The sound here is a word without a
meaning nothing can agitate the
monotony.
The new and the old event roll indolent
embraced in a circle.

The one takes the place of the other
returning continuously in the beginning.

What didn't belonged in the fluid kingdom
has now become its integral part.
The plunder that was stolen
from the marvellous world of the unknown
is hidden deep.
Imprisoned from the seaweeds
ornamented with the flowers of the sea.

Every piece has its own story
Every creation is also a piece
of its creator.
Behind the coral gate of the garden
are sealed emotions

In an empty room eyes without a face.
They are stirring other images,
glimpses of a distant life,
of a gone life.

The hands cannot identify the face
Behind the Iron Mask

Dim is within on the plane of the mind
a kneeled spirit under the boot of fear
cleansed with torture
trapped in purity by the whip.

Daggers from sound penetrate
resistance behind each one,
a Holy inquisitor.
Mouths reveal the presence of
haunted beings unworthy to be said alive.

Open the window
Release the spirit from this empty body
Behind the Iron Mask

Draining pleasures from mental wounds
a need opposed to false excuses
unveils the greatest beast.

I was sailing in the sea of lethargy
upon an empty dream
when land appeared
and filled the endless horizon.
White pillars from marble
deep into a garden
were shining like guiding stars.

The Dreamlord

A frozen voice from inside
poured out in my dreamworld
the voice of Morpheus:
"Taste the fruit of knowledge
drink the juice of wisdom
and you'll see what eyes can't see"

The Dreamlord

"You have reached utopia"

In the garden of illusions
encircled from the pillars
I found my idol
but clouds filled the purple sky
and shed their crystal tears
and the idol became muddy.

The Dreamlord

"The right explanation of symbols
depends on you.
The sun will send me away"

In the place where the idol was,
appeared a white flower.

Instrumental