Fathomless - The Enemy | Текст песни

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• Fathomless
• The Enemy

My youthful years were little but a tempest, cold and dark,
Graced upon occasion by some brilliant sun;
Thunder and rain have so made their mark,
That the stock of precious fruit in my garden is near done.

So have I reached the autumn of my thought,
And now must I bring forth the rakes and the spades
To gather once again flooded earth and damp rot,
Where water has carved deep holes the size of graves

And who knows if new buds, as I glimpse in dreams
Will find in this soil, drenched by endless streams
The mystic nourishment from which their lives might start?

O grief! O grief! Time devours our lives,
And the obscure enemy that gnaws on the heart,
Feeds upon the blood we slowly lose, and thus it thrives!

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