Kathaarsys - Gnostic Seasons

The return of the wintry dream
is the tree wich the forest hide
but the valley is dark and it reborns
in thousands falls

When the circle was mine
the spring faded in my name

Someone will try to explain you this
but you won´t understand nothing
A burrow isn´t more than a link
with the greyish elegy of the wetlands
isn´t more than the absence of light
in the eyes whom we leave back
In my immortal kingdom cold
the storm will guide ours battles
towards the abyss

The blood of our tragic memories
will brand a dark passage of sorrow
in the stony memorial of the shelvings
The black swamp that watches my death
symbolizes our past
The lie summarizes my existence
but not my kingdom

Now the last moon of October
project her rage in our arms
From the deepest of my grave
the cruelty of the perpetual winter
in the density of the forest

Nobody will hear never
the agonized melody of the river
near the forgotten willow

Until the end of our age
Epic Pagan Times

The fury of the oceans
will go over the path
of the ancients bards Открыть страницу с текстом

In the swamp shaded of the black wizard
ends the gnostic dance of the seasons,
breathes the memorial to the past
with the ancestral mist of the abyss

The dream is the impervious depth of the forest
through the lonely wolf

I´m the last word in the language of the winter
and meanwhile the nocturnal brook
watches the transition of the spirit
my entrails deepen in the storm

Through the nostalgic call of tragedy
defines the cosmic key of the black sanctuary

And with the mystic sound of the dark time...
Beyond the affinity morbid of the hate
contructes the ochre
in the oniric embrace of fear

I have arrived here to revere our deads
And meanwhile I watch the black tree
the grief of winter remains

The fury of ours battles startled the twilight
when our blood ran pure
by the brooks of the gloominess

And I await the rain now
The obscure fox betrays the coldness of the cypress
In the glades of the forest we watch the expressiveness of death
and nothing make to foresee the storm

Upon the silent water shatters
the twilight cerulean of the firmament

The rage whereupon were written this words
leaves no place to the wretchedness
The tragedy knows this lands

The dream is the impervious depth of the forest
through the lonely wolf

I´m the last word in the language of the winter
and meanwhile the nocturnal brook
watches the transition of the spirit
my entrails deepen in the storm Открыть страницу с текстом

Arrive to the way
through the forgotten garden...
The orchids are still
in silence

The ruins of this valley
without colour and timeless
I was left in the bank of the nocturnal river
near to my soul

Watch the eternity
drags the abyss among the shadows
of an enigmatic awakening
And the vision
of the silent tree covers the snow

When the running waters
scorn the whisper of the wrath
in the elapse of the swamp    
the Spirit goes over the sorrow

The death is an oak with an inexpressible gaze

In the journey to the past
somebody write something without meaning

The symbolism left in the certainties
little more of what I see in this bogs
The raw winter left death´s smell
in the thickness of misery

The things take me to the immensity
and the immensity take me to the another things

The gloomy melody of the trees knows
that the blaze of wind
dies in every rainy morning of autumn

in the threshold of the night, the tree

all the sadness of winter and life
shut herself in the mystery
of this everlasting rainless

The shadow´s black sanctuary is still ominous

The frost occults herself in the eyes of whom we left back

In the panteistic pinnacle of hate lies the winter´s temple and
in the abode of the stars flows the painful river of the horizon
Wish I never hear the silent twilight of the night

In the journey to the past
somebody write something without meaning

Arrive to the way
through the forgotten garden...
The orchids are still
in silence Открыть страницу с текстом

I feel cold near to bleeding mirror of winter
The evening rain
has turned our land in death

The vastness of deep forest
knows the nectar ethereal of human course
One of the many faces of the god Pan
is the rotten water in my hands
She has the essence of wolf in the eye of hunter

The autumn hides the lost spring
in the wintry storm
And the birthplace of knowledge
over the flock of ravens

The messiah watches me
and watches firmly the abyss

We have known the limits of the iced earth
To know the garden of the trees high
we need the affinity leper of time

Today appears the shadow discreet of death

Amongst the mountains,
the silhouette of the clarity

I lose the feel of being soul
and the taste sour of my arms amongst the hay

That which once we recall
has lost in the perennial, empty of the spring
I feel the coldness of the storm
and the pain of harvest in my steps
Orion watches us
from the sentinels of suffering Открыть страницу с текстом

I cross over the description of misery
and I don´t need to say no more

I found the beginning of the path
while in the edge distant of the night emerged
the wintry whisper of sorrow

I go to the north searching for the thickness
of the ocean icy of death
I have walked towards the inscrutable shadows of the black wizard
and I have only known the bitter taste of agony

The depth of the abyss has left me finding out,
destined for seek answers,
in the vast harvest of sadness

In the boundaries of the black cold stormy
the machines of the dawn
have created the dismal melody of the rain

The representation of blood
flows towards the mountains

The wind crosses the unarmed face
of the dark ground
While we hollow out in the human grief
the mystic aura of the dead river involve us

The presence be done tactile
The spectre recognizes our spirit
and the rotten sap of the doubt

In a unknown place they sacrificed the threshold
in the name of time
near the lonely wolf

Through the suffering hear the howl of the death
in the bowels of the forest

The wickedness appears amongst the eternals
The flesh dwell in the eye of the black twilight
And the path leads to the tree

Under the moon I have verified the vastness of the firmament
and the humbleness of our empire

The way seemed ephemeral then like now
From the shelter of the white poplar
we hear the dreadful scream
of who don´t thinks in the empty of life
but in the empty of death

The spring has lost
I go to the cold for watch the mountains
of the past

Near to the runnig waters I take off my spirit
and I walk Открыть страницу с текстом

The brazen light bleeds in the black pitch of memory
The cold tear the loneliness of the ocean

Through the petals threaten the nocturnal breath of forest
The rain listen to the spirit of the mist
and mechanices the bitter sensation of the winter

The wind naked
Once we find the keys to decipher the river
but that is not easy

I still awaiting the morning full of absence
I still screaming in the night
near to the border of the past
and I don´t have nothing to lose

From this lands I gaze at the distance
of the empty vastness of the storm
and the scream of silent hawks
smell as the death amongst the black flowers of cold

I lie here
near the indifference emotive of the turbid water
The morning fog talk in my name

In the name of the time
I invoke the nightspirit
and under the sign of the forest
appear my enigmatic steps

Nothing can save me from the ancient failure
even from wet dream of the night dew

I have found all secrets
that the ocean could offer me
between my hands I lost the nectar of spring
and the answer of the unknown tree Открыть страницу с текстом