Vagrant, cold winds... over mourningly vent trees Low clouds gather, irrevent to life Their quiet sounds seep into my being Creating a deadly lie Lie in truth, truth in lie Life of Death, Death of life Wreaking tentacles of fate Reveal life as a disease Human time leaves me Draining veins in my strife An elusive dream unravels In the absence of meaning I see faces with no eyes Hives of flesh, covered wih flies They are the haunters of minds The granters of death "Be you the messanger, Black in spirit, your tragedy we shall venerate..." Lifeless serenade Sung by grevious forms These voices from the ground Are not of living breath I carry the visceral secret On my flight to illumination To welcome the dream