Theatre Nocturne - Anhedonia | Текст песни

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• Theatre Nocturne
• Anhedonia

The void - this silence,
A cold listless dawn…
I lay amongst the ashen scenery
Awake, but dreaming
Ever near such swarming bliss,
Nearer to thee
In these deepest of groves,
My eyes are set aflame
When one (dead) rose
Trapped a thorn in my vein
Leaking droplets of blood,
Burning blood,
To ease the slickend bow over
The inability of consciousness to cope…

Like a reverie
I fall each day,
Awakened in this flesh,
Sinews of bitterness
Contained by mortal burden
Restrained,
Alone,
With the dreaded note to change a thought,
The gentle whispers of surreality
Like blades rending their paths beneath my back bone,
Pure and blinding
Intense light
Memories fade like seamless waves
Deep into the recesses of an abandoned shore
Where orchids thrive on life lines severed,
Sacrificed

For I am nothing without voice

The beauty in death is far from seen,
A freedom pure in form
Servitude dethroned,
As the blood flows thicker than wine
Over the inability of consciousness to cope…

Together we could have thrived
We could have died
In aspheric transformation,
Beyond the light of Sephira
We could have rose
As divinity surpassed
Infusing soul and star dust to create
The crown, the wisdom, and understanding:

To feel nothing is to become everything,
A voice empowered…

But I have faltered and fallen below their stare
Vengeful with prickling deceit,
My body now torn
Soul gorged upon,
Bones crushed and limbs separated,
To what pleasure do I owe this?
Must I confess that which is held dear to me
Upon the ignorant minds of man?
A blessing of freedom I presume
As my blood flows
And images destroy my wit,
A burning behind cruel eyes…

(The confession unveiled)

“I have chosen to disclose only a few details
About my relationship with the “deceased”.
For between her and I, only secrets were betrayed..
We met one eve
When my mind still had wit
And felt a tingle of emotion.
It was sometime ago, that eve,
But I still do recall the way she felt, the way
She spoke, the softness of her kiss,
The overall sensation obtained
By my own reason when I was near to her…
I believe in this suffering, for
There is an art in suffering
An art only for those skilled enough to see and feel,
Then contort it, weaving it into works of beauty.
If she were still “living”, she would understand this art
For she was beyond flesh, beyond beauty,
And I could never hurt her
I loved her to deeply..
It was the illusion of promise broken by word which killed her.
Yes, words alone hold the power to create and destroy
Like both freedom and nature.
For on that eve I spoke nothing but truth.
She fell to my embrace, as devil to the depths,
And I fell as well.
My heart could no longer bare the burden of
Life and sought a certain peace in her, so as
Moment turned to day, day to month, many moons
Would outline the flaws of character.
Then as if vanished, she was gone.
She spoke no more. Her skin turned marble and blood froze, eyes of chrysalis,
That soft whispering kiss became
A bitter lament for nostalgia.
I was driven mad, out of my wit!
I became a gaunt image of my former self, loathsome indeed,
My mind filled with thoughts, ideas, unanswered questions,
And an overwhelming emptiness that burned…
She hid from me, and is still hiding,
“Dead but dreaming”
For I can feel her in everything,
She is not gone
Just traced across the lands
Her blood is now the blood of the earth
The mother goddess,
She has become above all
And I will soon join her at the throne.
Now take with this what you will
My last confession,
Illusion or reality..?”

The void - this silence,
A cold listless dawn…
I lay amongst the ashen scenery
Awake, but dreaming
Ever near such swarming bliss,
A prisoner of my own creator…
Prometheus

Crafted of flesh and b

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