His black devices,
The victim, forever on the rack.
He could play upon them as he choose
Would they arouse him with a throb of agony?
While thus suffering,
The avenger had devoted himself.
Uprose a grisly phantom,
Not just the external presence, but the very soul.
The great judgement day,
That moment of his ecstasy.
Laid his hand upon his chest,
The profoud depth was remarkable, his spirit now withdrawn.
A dark transfiguration,
Brought them a gloomier hour,
Silence out of the abyss of sadness.
The past is gone, and so am I.
Gone, with the Angel of Death.
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 10:01 AM UTC
His black devices,
The victim, forever on the rack.
He could play upon them as he choose
Would they arouse him with a throb of agony?
While thus suffering,
The avenger had devoted himself.
Uprose a grisly phantom,
Not just the external presence, but the very soul.
The great judgement day,
That moment of his ecstasy.
Laid his hand upon his chest,
The profoud depth was remarkable, his spirit now withdrawn.
A dark transfiguration,
Brought them a gloomier hour,
Silence out of the abyss of sadness.
The past is gone, and so am I.
Gone, with the Angel of Death.
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