01. Intro/And When He Falleth


«There hath past away a glore fro the earth;
A glore that in the hearts and minds of men,
Men dementéd - blinfoldéd by light,
Flourisheth as weed in their well-groom'd garths.»

«Might I too was blindfoldéd ere,
Tho' years have master'd me
A masque of this to fashion:
Sëer blest, thou best philosopher!»

«'Tis the divine comedy -
The fool and the mocking court:
Fool, kneel now, and ring thy bells!:
We hold the Earth fro Heaven away.»



«Believe? In a deity long dead? -
I would rather be a pagan suckléd in creeds outworn;
With faërtytales fill'd up in head:
Thoughts of the Book stillborn.»

«Be my kin free fro carnal sin,
Bridle the thoughts of thy Master.»



«The quality of mercy and absolution,
Whence cometh such qualities?
Build thyself a mirror in which
Solely wanton images of thy desire appear!»

«'Tis the divine tragedy -
The fool and the mocking court:
Fool, kneel now, and ring thy bells!:
Make us guffaw at thy futile follies,
Yet for our blunders - Oh, in shame;
Earth beareth no balm for mistakes -
We hold the Earth fro Hell away.»



«Shadow of annoyance -
Ne'er come hither!
...And when He falleth, He falleth like Lucifer,
Ne'er to ascend again...»


02. Der Spiegel

der spiegel,
in dem ich die schatten seh';
das schwarze licht, welches mein schloك verschlieكt
und drauكen, der teufel und die schwarze hexe:
singendes, tanzendes ihm verfallenes wesen.
hِrst du denn nicht wie der wolf heult?!,
doch das blut sprengt meine adern -
jeder strahl führt mich dem untergang nنher:
ich spüre, wie berauscht ich bin,
die sonne scheint nie wieder diesem spiegel,
der mond aber leuchtet meinem kِrper;
staub - ich trinke das verfluchte wasser,
blut - ich liebte diesen rosengarten,
ich krieche durch diese spitzen dornen,
mein geist lebt in der dunkelheit -
schwarz; - das nichts; - unendlich;
erbe des bِsen -
gott klopft an meine tür,
und der spiegel
zerbricht.


03. Cassandra

He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return -
She hath no life but the one he for her wrought;
Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down,
Ripostéd with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn.

Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.

Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? -
A mistress fuell´d by his prest haughtiness -
If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee,
Belike egal as it to him might be?!

Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.

'Or was he an وriéd being,
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
Her naysay' raught his heart,
Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
She beliéd her own words,
He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge,
She held him august, yet wee;
He left her ne'er without his heart.


04. Venus


Circa mea pectora multa sunt suspiria
De tua pulchritudine, que me ledunt misere.

Venus! - I trow'd thou wast my friend -
Professed to Heaven thou wouldst send;
As a disciple of a villain
Didst thou act the tragedienne.

Iam amore virginali totus ardeo.
Amor volat undique, captus est libidine.

Venus! - I trow'd thou wast my friend -
Professed to Heaven thou wouldst send;
As a disciple of a villain
Didst thou act the tragedienne.

Iam amore virginali totus ardeo.
Circa mea pectora multa sunt suspiria
De tua pulchritudine, que me ledunt misere.
Tui lucent oculi sicut solis radij,
Sicut splendor fulguris, qui lucem donat tenebris.


05. Black as the Devil Painteth (RMX v2)

An artist is what is call'd the self that the brush holdeth -
Though hath it then caringly caress'd the Canvas of to-morrow?,
O Canvas! for thee I hold my tool - still! passionlessly it quivereth,
Minding not that my hands are more than apt;
My Muse,

Where is hidden
The blue-huéd arch 'neath the High Heaven's rich emblazonry,
The flowery meadow, embrac'd by the horizon - snowflakéd and aëry mountains,
In which the barebreastéd maidens dance to the lay o' midsummer,
Aloft the distant lazy flapping of the doves in vainglore.

O Canvas!, wherefore canst thou these images not allow? -
I deem a projection of my Theatre they should be! -
Then, I challenge thee the wisdom of naysaying the yearns o' mine -
What is this unforseen that not enjoineth light shades to be skillfully paintéd?

The raven sky prey'd on by the snowfill'd, blustery clouds,
Unadornéd the meadow - hunger driveth the wolf out of the wood,
The maidens chainéd and whippéd within a dreary dungeon -
And, lo! 'twixt the wizen roses a mossy grave:
«The Devil is as Black as he Painteth» -
O Canvas! wherefore?...


06. Siren


Fro my heart wilt thou ne'er

Be left without - come!

Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine,
Ryking for me:
«List and heed», thou say'st
Chancing to lure.






How I wish for thee again,

Will I give thee it: Troth.

Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine,
Ryking for me:
«List and heed», thou say'st
Chancing to lure.

Haste not thine wisdom, for the hollow is ta'en -
By whom, know I not; 'lack! am I of twain -
And as a crux - cede I my words -

Have I been 'sooth sinsyne.



Ryking for thee;
Wistful, whistful -
Chancing to lure,
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown 'tis -
Dodge na 'way herefro, do come here in eath!

Mayhap luréd by the scent of lote -
'Od! - the fœtid - eft hie back I mote;
For what I did my soul atrouncéd,

O! do believe me, 'twasn't a frounce.



Ryking for thee;
Wistful, whistful -
Chancing to lure,
Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown 'tis -
Dodge na 'way herefro, do come here in eath!


07. Poppæa

Dream of a funeral, blest temptress - behest me! -
A funeral thou'lt hark, swarth murderess - the Devil,
Thine feral grith with me, Poppوa, be Hell's hap;
Waylaid the beldame bawd, the niggard: Laughing tragedy.

And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Stay my adamant -
Suffer me to transfix thee;
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Let me dawt thine twain -
And, twine 'hem apart.

Of marrow, do na mell; I am Morelle -
The bosom'd Titivil; travail me; a fلin,
Subdue me with thine lote in oneness - make haste yet,
Displode me in a font - Poppوa, do what thou wilt.

And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Stay my adamant -
Suffer me to transfix thee;
And the wench doth bawdness to blow,
Let me dawt thine twain -
And, twine 'hem apart.


08. Bacchante

Ado with a mean woe,
An ado as aglow:
Belying the paynim
Thou rewrot'st the tome -
An ivy-crown'd and dancing,
And fawn'd and trancing -
Espying the surly wud,
And heeding her not.

Celebration

Afear'd of Bacchante,
And dost thou 'hold the yill? -
Behind is the sleepless;
Eyne 'holding na mo.

Celebration

«Onto the paper scribe I the words that fro my heart move -
With every dight letter, with the ebb of ink,
The point of the quill my penmanship doth mirror;
Tales of theft and adultery,
Tales of devilment and witchery -

Tales of me.»

Celebration
Bacchari


09. A Distance there is


Come in out of the rain thou sayest -
But thou ne'er step'st aside; and I am trapp'd -
A distance there is...
None, save me and the bodkin -
Pitter-patter on the roof:
Behold! - 'tis not the rain; thence me it has to be -
I will not drink thy vintage wine, my dear;
Thou hast heed'd that I am of innocence,
Yet thou let'st thy lass into peril -
Thou let'st me be parchéd;
My heart is of frailty,
My pale skin is huéd damask.
When thou thy tears hast hidden, "Come back!", thou sayest -
There I soon am to be - but how am I to run
When my bones, my heart thou hast me bereaft-
But run thou sayest; I run -
And there and then I behold that a time will come
When I again dead will be.
Thou tell'st me to leave without delay -
I leave with my bodkin and my tears in my hands;
Lo! - the shadows, the sky - descending;
So by a dint of smite I gait
Ere I run and melt together with dusk.
Yon the reach of my mind I keep this event,
But it seems as if naught is to change anyway?!
After all these years thou left me down in the emotional dephts -
The sombre soakéd velvet-drape is upon me hung,
Turning my feelings away from our so ignorant world:
All the beautiful moments sharéd, deliberatlely push'd aside -
...a distance there is...


10. Der Tanz der Schatten


«Meine Augen sind so dunkel,
Auch sind die Visionen schwarz,
Schwarz wie die Nacht;
Der Dنmmerzustand des Menschen -
Ist meine Zeit des Daseins.»

«Ich bin so alleine;
Einsamkeit in Ewigkeit -
Gedanken nur für mich,
Mit dem Schatten flüstere ich -
Mit dem Schatten tanze ich -
Einsam wandere ich,
Das Blut begehre ich: Totentanz.»

«Den tِdlichen Kuك zu empfangen;
Folge der Finsternis in das Nichts! -
Süكer Nektar auf deinen Lippen;
Ein Rinnsal blutfeuchtes Leben,
Ich lecke die Liebe aus deinem Gesicht,
Ich lecke den Haك aus deinem Gesicht..»

«Ein so berauschendes Gefühl:
Meine bittere Existenz zu schmecken!»


«Gebe dich mir hin!,
Ich war von Trauer erfüllt,
Ich war so untrِstlich,
Doch du hast die Liebe entfacht...»

«Gleichwohl hast du deine Augen versteckt
Lichtschein hinter der Dunkelheit;
Ein Licht das mir gezeigt hat,
Daك du von Angst erfüllt bist.
Erzنhle mir bitte
Warum du diese Angst in Dir trنgst?!»


«Tanze nicht mehr mit dem Schatten,
Tanze bitte nicht über das Grab;
Tanze mit mir den Walzer Luzifers.
Ich sehne mich deine Braut zu sein
- Um zu Finsternis zu werden.»


«Für immer und unendlich:
Ein Seelsorger deiner bin ich.»

«Laك mich Deinen Kuك begrüكen:
Den selbstzerstِrerischen Kuك...»



«...Bis ich sterbe, umarme mich,
Und ich werde wieder auferstehen...
Ich liebe dich...»


11. Cassandra (video clip)


He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return -
She hath no life but the one he for her wrought;
Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down,
Ripostéd with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn.

Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.

Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? -
A mistress fuell´d by his prest haughtiness -
If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee,
Belike egal as it to him might be?!

Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Sëer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.

'Or was he an وriéd being,
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
Her naysay' raught his heart,
Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
She beliéd her own words,
He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge,
She held him august, yet wee;
He left her ne'er without his heart.



12. Der Tanz der Schatten (video clip)



«Meine Augen sind so dunkel,
Auch sind die Visionen schwarz,
Schwarz wie die Nacht;
Der Dنmmerzustand des Menschen -
Ist meine Zeit des Daseins.»

«Ich bin so alleine;
Einsamkeit in Ewigkeit -
Gedanken nur für mich,
Mit dem Schatten flüstere ich -
Mit dem Schatten tanze ich -
Einsam wandere ich,
Das Blut begehre ich: Totentanz.»

«Den tِdlichen Kuك zu empfangen;
Folge der Finsternis in das Nichts! -
Süكer Nektar auf deinen Lippen;
Ein Rinnsal blutfeuchtes Leben,
Ich lecke die Liebe aus deinem Gesicht,
Ich lecke den Haك aus deinem Gesicht..»

«Ein so berauschendes Gefühl:
Meine bittere Existenz zu schmecken!»



«Gebe dich mir hin!,
Ich war von Trauer erfüllt,
Ich war so untrِstlich,
Doch du hast die Liebe entfacht...»

«Gleichwohl hast du deine Augen versteckt
Lichtschein hinter der Dunkelheit;
Ein Licht das mir gezeigt hat,
Daك du von Angst erfüllt bist.
Erzنhle mir bitte
Warum du diese Angst in Dir trنgst?!»


«Tanze nicht mehr mit dem Schatten,
Tanze bitte nicht über das Grab;
Tanze mit mir den Walzer Luzifers.
Ich sehne mich deine Braut zu sein
- Um zu Finsternis zu werden.»


«Für immer und unendlich:
Ein Seelsorger deiner bin ich.»

«Laك mich Deinen Kuك begrüكen:
Den selbstzerstِrerischen Kuك...»



«...Bis ich sterbe, umarme mich,
Und ich werde wieder auferstehen...
Ich liebe dich...»