On Whom the Moon Doth Shine

On Whom the Moon Doth Shine - Theatre Of Tragedy

O soft embalmer of ye still midnight

Oh allow me thee to adown

Of any sort thou fancieth

Each holdeth it's own fancy I say

Yet

The pleasure we partake in

Was caus'd by

The fang'd grin

Save do I

For him anger hold

Nay I knew I was fey

Had I what it taketh

I would do

I sense

I cannot sense

I am

Yet I am not

Once I kiss'd the image

Of the seven angels of death

Yet

As thou

So didst

On my lips a kiss landd

And with the shadows blendd

The tendermost silken mourn

In which the light

Hidden is

Yon hell's brazen doors

Wrothfully it trieth to push

Then lo

The black death

Serpent like 'twixt the breasts crept

Hush'd with a gasp of life's breath of life's breath

Together red tears they wept they wept

And pass'd and pass'd the procession the procession

Of dancers dead

As in darkness as in darkness were we were we

Lock'd in wed

I kiss'd the seven angels of death

And hell

Open'd it's doors

Yet what was yet what was 'fore my eyes 'fore my eyes

But if not the brightest light

Brightest light brightest light

Hell

Brightest light