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My Dying Bride
My Dying Bride




Альбом My Dying Bride


Turn Loose The Swans (1993)
1993
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Pour yourself into me, our time approaches
so near, that I sigh. What danger in such an
adorer? We dance and the music dies. We
carry them all away, as we glide through
their lost eyes. You lift me above myself,
with the ghostly lake of your mind. Arise
from your slumber in my arms. Your beauty
took the strength from me. In the meadows
of heaven, we run through the stars.
Romantic in our tastes. We are without
excuse. We burn in our lust. We die in our
eyes and drown in our arms.


. . .



Your bloodied body is what I cling to. In
powerful rain, they laid their heads to
die. Let your dark, thirsty eyes drink deep the
sights of me. It's sad that, in our blindness, we
gather thorns for flowers. Your river holds a
feast of danger. The suffering you have had to
bear. I'd die for that moment one more time.
The loved one falls below your ideals.
Pleasure too safely enjoyed lacks zest. The
brave lick their sickening lips. Rigid, handsome
and a poet. A king in his passionate castle.
Where now? Feed me! Hold me! Save me! Save
yourself! Where now? Which way? Dear god,
show me. Take your own. Struggle free! Arise!
You're Ruined! Stand down! Your kin, piled
thick around you. Save yourself!


. . .



The very deepest of your wishes. Climb up
high, take my hand. Tread carefully through
these sickening angels. Look at your god.
look at the way he stands. The uterine
murderess dies herself. Let me show you all
my pain. Sardonyx lays waste to your eyes
and leaves you blind. Gone is the day. They
that did feed, delicately. Feed on me. The call
has come, from bird and beast. Insect and
serpent, and all that lives in the sea. And
cities of fire, rip through me. My life a
widower sad. On your knees, smell your
disease. If i live you will be sorry. I have a
thousand forms. Uninjured by your tongue.
I'm working to ensnare you. Couple your
name with cruelty. The mother of dying
children. My hatred is unnumbered. It rises in
my breast. We've lived with our suffering.
But now...?


. . .



I've seen them. so dark. Black. And yet fine.
The flower they carry had once been mine.
Get away from me, man of stories. Robe of lies.
Stay far from me. I lie to myself (it's not
hurting). I need help, but not from you or
your father. No! Jesus Christ. Who's my
saviour? Lose myself in gods death. No! I can't
bear all this pain. I had watched the snow
all day. Falling. It never lets up. All day
falling. I lifted my voice and wept out loud,
"So this is life?".


. . .



See the light and feel my warm desire, run
through my veins like the evening sun. It
will live but no eyes will see it. I'll bless your
name before I die. No person in everything can
shine, yet shine you did, for the world to see.
All a man hath will he give for life? For life
that's lost bleeds all over me. I'd fallen before
but it never hurt like this. Don't leave me here
to crawl through the mire. I'm without fault
before the throne of god. Take from me the
crown of sympathy. What do you think you'll
see? What do you think there will be? Sit down!
Did you see the sun? What will we become?
Great ones? The mouths that dare not speak his
name, behold them, raised, complete and fine.
The battle for our lives is oh, so brief. Take my
hand and please walk with me. When I was
young the sun did burn my face. I let its love
and warmth wash over me. The melting voice of
many, in the hush of night. Whispering tongues
can poison my honest truth. Come dress me
with your body, and comfort me. I dreamt of a
dead child in my sleep. I wear a terrible
mark in my head. my clean, white bed. It calls
to me. I must lie down. and I want you to lay
with me, in sympathy. No sad "adieus" on a
balcony. For one last time, just walk with me.
At the beautiful gate of the temple, we must
be saved. For deadened, icy pain, covers all the
earth.


. . .



So little of what we observe, is the girl
herself. Elaborate, scented coiffers. Adieu
d'amour. Vast is the heirs ballroom. Let the
rich give you presents. Heaven pours from
her throat, as she sings and as she dances.
The fumes of rich swine, honeyglazed and
dripping, playing in the air. My mouth eager
and wishing. But I return to this
nightingale. Her hair all fiery red. Deep it is
and wild. my weakness will be fed. Boys
whipped on the alter of diana, sometimes
until they died. The cunning wily
merchant, and his four crippled horses. Tales
told in warlike manner. The storyteller by
the fire . While musing deeply on this sight,
the songster stirred my desire. You are
sweet and fine to listen to. Long tresses
about her neck. Yet much is false. This
mighty evening, I've seen no face. This is
crushing me. My quill it aches. Turn loose
the swans that drew my poets craft. I'll
dwell in desolate cities. You burned my
wings. I leave this ode, splendid victorious
through the carnage. I wanted to touch
them all. I wanted to touch them all.


. . .



Thy every look and every grace
so charm whenever I view thee,
'til death overtake me in the chase
still will my hopes pursue thee

Then when my tedious hours have past,
be this my last lesson given
low at thine feet to breathe my last
and die in sight of heaven.


. . .


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