1. ACT I: OF ART NOT TO BE SEEN

(Instrumental)


2. THE BLACK PAINTINGS

Self exile from the world outside
Driven by the torment that binds
Him to a fear so familiar
It becomes a dark reclusive shelter

Dead inside, riddled with contempt
Memories plagued with crimes of war
Once he had a life built on passion
Now overshadowed by his dark obsession

With art not to be seen
And inspired by his damaged psyche
In the thick of night his paints would flow
On the walls that enclose his soul

Sun sets on another day
With candles lit, he paints the night away
Bearing all on a canvas of stone
An exhibition for his eyes alone
His eyes alone

Concepts and mindset
Secrets that surpass his death
History has lost the key
Open eyes but too blind to see

His mind is lost but not his mastery
Of the arts, his only sanctity
He touched the very world that spat him out
Consumed by the shadow of his doubt
He can no longer face society
A hermit that fades to obscurity
The last remaining old great master
Francisco Goya

The Black Paintings
Beauty from the troubles that plagued him
The Black Paintings
Mystery surrounds their meaning
The Black Paintings
Beauty from the troubles that plagued him
The Black Paintings
Mystery surrounds the meaning

Of art not to be seen
And inspired by his damaged psyche
In the thick of night his paints would flow
On the walls of that enclose his soul

Sun sets on another day
With candles lit, he paints the night away
Bearing all on a canvas of stone
An exhibition for his eyes alone

The Black Paintings
Beauty from the troubles that plagued him
The Black Paintings
Mystery surrounds their meaning
Mystery surrounds their meaning
Since the death of the great Francisco Goya


3. FOREFATHER'S EVE (PART II)

Once a year the monster rises from his grave
A shuffling corpse that a curse reanimates
A heart that’s dead, silent in his chest
His mouth is wide and eyes as dull as lead

Many tales of this man that walks the gloom
Gone are the days of those weeping at his tomb
Those living near in a state of constant fear
Of this man, this beast, this blood drinker

Lock your doors and windows tightly
Do not tread on this night so lightly
Subjects to his wickedness
Disappear in the darkness
Warding off evil with praise
To a God absent this day
That night when the Upiór
Comes knocking at your door

Unholy beast that needs to feed
On your blood, he must revel in agony
But why does he moan in sorrow?
Are his needs not his desire?

Lock your doors and windows tightly
Do not tread on this night so lightly
Subjects to his wickedness
Disappear in the darkness
Warding off evil with praise
To a God absent this day
That night when the Upiór
Comes knocking at your door

With eyes like oceans
You could drown in his pain
Your final moments in his gaze
While blood rushes from your veins

Read between the lines and maybe you’ll see
His soul is as much as a victim as thee
No escape from this purgatory
Year by year, endless cycle of tragedy

Fresh corpses found drained
In the wake of a new day
Not a single drop of blood
In pigmentless flesh and veins

With eyes like oceans, they drowned in his pain
Terror etched on their face
But when sounds of bells fade
That fourth and final Sunday
Return to earth, strength expired

Asleep again in churchyard mire
Breast bathed in blood
From wounds first made
Those who cannot forgive his sin
Barley mask that they despise
And screw a smile above their chin
Fashion mercy with their eyes

Unholy beast that needs to feed
On your blood, he must revel in agony
But why does he moan in sorrow?
Are his needs not his desire?

Lock your doors and windows tightly
Do not tread on this night so lightly
Subjects to his wickedness
Disappear in the darkness
Warding off evil with praise
To a God absent this day
That night when the Upiór
Comes knocking at your door

When does this bloodshed end?

When each year he rises again
Stuck in a loop, blood thick on his hands
What Godless curse enslaves this man?

With eyes like oceans
You could drown in his pain
Your final moments in his gaze
While blood rushes from your veins