Текст песни My Dying Bride - The Barghest O' Whitby

Текст:

I doubt I shall ever come back Moving thin and wane, an old danger A thorn am I with sunken back I am the enemy of you, traitor. And the world cold. I'm still on track Your heart so cruel - mine is greater. It is the sky that bleeds my name And in it's breath my heart's contained I watched you fleeing from my ruin A scent of blood is your undoing Through oak that groan under the rain Under my feet, the world arcane In suffering I was always right Within the silver moon tonight From my lips the word is sung And in this voice thy will be done A great show of fear Fear that I am near And very far is dawn 'Twas such a promising morn Come, look back at me I sense you on the breeze The fall from your throne This is all I need Tell me what remains A hunger within yourself? So many miles before I sleep Your truth is weak Are those tiny rivers Down your rosy cheek? Laid out against the sky In the corners of the night Falling from my mouth The words of punishment I will make you see Your traffic of misery It is my sins that you deplore Count them fair, for I have more To my mouth I carry you In crimson teeth, the breath I drew I make you dust, as you were flesh Honoured to see a performance in death We have no time, no time at all There's empty rooms and shadowing halls Fevering thoughts all hollow and old Shivering veins now running cold When dawns were young and woodland green And silvery moons as often seen In Hawsker dark is where you came And tore the night asunder My master at your knife to blame And wove his eyes with thunder To Nor' east, just along the coast Your colleague of the scars Takes pen to quote the pirates ghost A lesson from those Tsars Justice done with dark blood and scum I'm torn toward the North From Northern moors they know I'll come So Whitby is the source! Where you would sit and wait for me I arrive at Saltwick Bay Ans so you shall taste my grief Drawing the cut, I'm away My form is bloody and it is true It is the night I wear around me From lies I grew a spit of untruth I help the frail sky to its sleep Nameless, I come and without end Within the moor and without end.

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