In the Shadow of our Pale Companion: 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

I am the Wooden Doors: 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

You were but a ghost in my arms: 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

The Hawthorne Passage: 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. I will die and nobody will remember me. 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!"

...and the great cold death of the Earth: 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...

Gtfo

Ok Soren.