the winds are blowing across the sea...
the silver sea of tears, frozen...
how they howl, the voices of the gale are crying to the night... do they cry for me?
buried there in the shadows...
deep beneath the ice where the ancient palace still lies...
after uncounted millennia...
the aeons dare not touch these ice walls...
do the souls of those prophets and poets still haunt the hills?
under the city, the catacombs reach into the black earth...
does the onyx throne still stand
where i once sat as lourde of this worlde?
i can hear the winds screeching high above...
their twisted nails and cruel fate against the silver ice...
no wind stirs in these streets, nor do shadows...
daemons shrink from this place in fear...
what hideous fate brought my kingdom into this damnation?
i still feel the pain
and my heart bleeds anew from my wounds...
where is my poet?
there is only silence in my palace now
with ashes and dust from the ancient defeat, my defeat...
the dagger still burns within me...
deserted and alone, i see no end to misery...
the wind blows across the silver sea
frozen like my heart...
will I ever see the stars once more?
will I ever gaze upon the moon
hypnotized by its ghastly radiance?
it is here I cry until the last dawn
when darkness will come and set me free
there are no dreams in the palace of woe
in which i slumber endlessly...
statues surround the palace
a sepulchre of angels dancing...
would they dance for me once more?
in their garden of the dead, stone faces all serene...
why do they not cry, why do they not sing?
there are black clouds gathering over the silver sea
where colde winds rake over the ice...
the silence pulling at my mind
burns down my yearning soul
but there is no music in the place
where stone divinities cannot cry and cannot sing
there is no music in a land where dreams are forsaken...
lost in the maze of the otherworlde
in the spheres that lie beyond life...
is there still blood on my hands, my own blood?
mayhaps it is the winds that have stolen
their cries and their songs...
mayhaps it be the winds as well that have stolen
my dreams of crystal and fire...
in the palace beneath the frozen silver sea
even death is forbidden to enter these gates
and charon rows far from my palace of dreamless slumber...
sometymes, when the candles upon the altars of this madness
burn in the deepest shades of blue and life...
i can hear poetry, the glorious tales of the past
of the ancient days...
...mayhaps it is only the winds...