01 - The Wicked - Epithimia Gia Athanasia | Текст песни

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• 01 - The Wicked
• Epithimia Gia Athanasia

It has been nearly three months since I obtained the book from the old man's estate.
For nearly three months I've spent deciphering its contents, its purpose.

I knew it was of considerate power, to say the least.
It seems that I had blatantly underestimated it.

My dreams are now envenomed with its whisperings.
It reveals to me wonderful things - horrid and sweet. Sordid yet blissful.

Treasures never hidden.
Secrets never sought after.
Answers without questions.

I leave my house more and more scarcely as time passes.
I hear ominous thumping noises from within the walls.
Wailing and sobbing from the basement, and somewhat unsettling laughter from the attic.
I should probably be worried, but I have no time for such foolish sentimentality.

What used to be my bedroom is now a pathway to a forest.
At first when I opened the door after the continuing rustling sounds I sthought I was simply hallucinating. Delirious from the exhaustion.
But there was the brisk smell of woods after rain.
The tranquil unscathed from a pack of wolves, I dared not to venture there any further.

I hear distant footsteps from my wardrobe.
Echoing like in an ancient hallway.

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