[Instrumental]

Through vast valleys I wonder
To the highest peaks
On pathways through a wild forgotten landscape
In search of God, in spite of man 'til the lost forsaken endless
This is where I choose to tread

Fall...so shall we fall into the nihil?
The nothingness that we feel in the arms of the pale
In the shadow of the grim companion who walks with us

Here is the landscape
Here is the sun
Here in the balance of the earth
Where is the god?
Has he fallen and abandoned us?

As I'm stalked by the shadow of death's hand
The fire in my heart is forged across the land

Here at the edge of this world
Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone
If this grand panorama before me is what you call God
Then God is not dead

I walked down to a river and sat in reflection of what had to be done
An offering of crimson flowed into the water below
A wound of spirit from which it floated and faded away

Like every hope I've ever had
Like every dream I've ever known
It washed away in a tide of longing, a longing for a better world
From my will, my throat, to the river, and into the sea, wash away, fade away

Here is the landscape
Here is the sun
Here at the edge of the earth
Where is the god?
Has he fallen to ruin?

As I'm stalked by the shadow of death's hand
My heathen pride is scarred across the land

[Instrumental]

When all is withered and torn
And all has perished and fallen
These great wooden doors shall remain closed. . .

When the heart is a grave filled with blood
And the soul is a cold and haunted stone of lost hope
When the voice of pride has been silenced
And dignity's fires are but cinders
. . .their grandeur shall remain untainted

It is this grandeur that protects the spirit within
From the plight of this broken world, from the wounds in her song
I wish to die with my will and spirit intact
The will that inspired me to write these words
Seek not the fallen to unlock these wooden doors

[Instrumental]

Like snowfall, you cry a silent storm
Your tears paint rivers on this oaken wall. . .
Amber nectar, misery ichor
. . .cascading in streams of hallowed form
For each stain, a forsaken shadow

You are the lugubrious spirit
Etched in the oak of wonder
You are the sullen voice and silent storm

Each night I lay
Awakened by her shivering silent voice
From the shapes in the corridor walls.
It pierces the solitude like that of a distant scream
In the pitch-black forest of my delusion. . .

With each passing day, a deeper grave. . .

"Why did you leave me to die?"
"Why did you abandon me?"
"Why did you walk away and leave me bitterly yearning?"

Her haunting, contorted despair was etched into the wood's grain
Though fire rages within me, no fire burns fiercer than her desire
The shape whispers my name. . .

I damn this oak!
I damn her sorrow!
I damn these oaken corridors
That bear the ghosts of those I've thrown away!

Though tempted I am to caress her texture divine
And taste her pain sweet, sweet like brandy wine;
I must burn these halls, these corridors
And silence her shrill, tormenting voice
. . .forever. . .

Like snowfall, you cried a silent storm
No tears stain this dust in my hands
But from this ashen gray, her voice still
Whispers my name. . .

You were the lugubrious spirit
Who haunted the oak of wonder
You were the geist that warned this frozen silent storm
You were but a ghost in my arms

Vem är du?
Jag är döden.


Yo moriré y nadie se acordará de mí...
Yo moriré y nadie se acordará de mí...
De mí...
Sí Lis, yo me acordaré de ti. E iré a verte al cementerio con una flor, y un perro. Y en tu funeral cantaré, en voz baja: "¡Qué bonito es un entierro!"

Translation:
Who are you?
I am Death.


"I will die and nobody will remember me."
"Yes Lis, I will remember you. And I will go see you at the cemetery with a flower and a dog. And at your funeral I'll sing, in a low voice: "How beautiful is a burial!"

Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am shattered on the floor
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am scattered on the floor
We are the wounds and the great cold death of the earth...

"Earth is floating on the waters like an island,
Hanging from four rawhide ropes
Fastened at the top of the Sacred four directions.
The ropes are tied to the ceiling of the sky,
When the ropes break, this world will come
Tumbling down and all living things will fall with it and die...

Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am the fragments on the floor
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am the ashes on the floor
We are the wounds and the great cold death of the earth
Darkness and silence, the light shall flicker out...

Here I sit at the fire
Liquor's bitter flames warm my languid soul
Here I drink alone and remember a graven life, the stain of her memory
In this cup, love's poison, for love is the poison of life
Tip the cup, feed the fire, and forget about useless fucking hope

Lost in the desolation of love
The passions we reap and sow
Lost in the desolation of life
This path that we walk

Here's to love, the sickness
The great martyr of the soul
Here's to life, the vice
The great herald of misery
In this cup, spiritus frumenti
For this is the nectar of the spirit
Quench the thirst, drown the sorrow
And forget about cold yesterdays

Lost in the desolation of love
The passions we reap and sow
Lost in the desolation of life
This path that we walk
Lost in the desolation of love
The sorrows we reap and sow
Lost in the desolation of life
The path that we walk