Dymytry Vance
10/05/09, 08:05 PM
II
Only lighting the ceremonial candles will release the aromatic scents throughout the air.
As the decanter of Tokay sits upon the mahogany.
A slow act unfurls upon me.
Poison beneath the noise,
Tip of the tongue, teeth to the lips.
Et sous ce dire conséquence nous glisse hors de notre contrôle.
And as the horizon sets beneath us,
Die Trauben fliegen und Sammeln sich um die Szene der Trauer.
Und das Licht dimmen zu einem Schatten zu dunkel.
De duvor samlas och flyger runt scenen av sorg.
Och lamporna svagt till en nyans för mörk.
This is a metaphor for our posthumous deceit.
I have cast a song to the wind, and ponder if it will carry onto the horizon.
Will the crypt-keeper whisper out his wise words of advice to me,
or will his time be taken with truth?
Only lighting the ceremonial candles will release the aromatic scents throughout the air.
As the decanter of Tokay sits upon the mahogany.
A slow act unfurls upon me.
Poison beneath the noise,
Tip of the tongue, teeth to the lips.
Et sous ce dire conséquence nous glisse hors de notre contrôle.
And as the horizon sets beneath us,
Die Trauben fliegen und Sammeln sich um die Szene der Trauer.
Und das Licht dimmen zu einem Schatten zu dunkel.
De duvor samlas och flyger runt scenen av sorg.
Och lamporna svagt till en nyans för mörk.
This is a metaphor for our posthumous deceit.
I have cast a song to the wind, and ponder if it will carry onto the horizon.
Will the crypt-keeper whisper out his wise words of advice to me,
or will his time be taken with truth?