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Behold the flowers of a spring so soon, |
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Its harvest leaf in foul brown bloom. |
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Whirling fog and a cauldron of stew, |
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A seer's drench haggard witches' brew. |
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Es werde Nacht... |
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Trembling choirs from children in their graves mouldring so young. |
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Old corses' morbid grace. |
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Oh, I hear them, still don't fear them! |
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...und es werde Finsternis! |
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Here's to you ye unknown Dead! |
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Twinkle at your misthung battlefield |
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Or breathe in the moist den's bed. |
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Dem Totenvolk der Kelch des Sehens... |
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Uncloak me miracles from a Kingdom. |
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Come, king of the woods, lords of the Atlas, |
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Whispering takes long lost and gone. |
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Den Lebenden der Trank des Hexers! |
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From bloodstained Stargates to hellish forges |
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And skyelad summits to the eeriest gorges. |
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But now depart for my road goes yonder, |
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A road that darkens while in light I wander. |
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But pierced with beams when everything's sombre. |
