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Transfiguration |
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Sopor Aeternus |
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Nothing is in this world can be |
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as immaculate and pure |
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as the love of us Cold Ones for the dead. |
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Our love lives only in those fleeting moments of recollection ... |
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- memories we're fearing to forgot. |
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Our love knows neither kiss or touch, |
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we are embracing dust, |
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air or ourselves when visualizing what we've lost. |
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Awoken by a sound or scent, |
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some visions call sad phantoms ..., |
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floating, wrapped in fading colours ...- our lament. |
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And then there is the all-devouring dread: |
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"some day I might not bring him back ..., |
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when my feeble mind can't help but lose the contours of his face". |
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Lost forever, lone and sad, gone forever to the dead ... |
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- so far beyond the barriers of the opposite space. |
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Yet, alas, despite it all ... |
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walking through these deserted halls ... |
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It's easy ... still ... to love the dead...- |
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It's easier to love the dead. |
