Candlemass - Epistle No. 81 Lyrics
Mark how our shadow, mark Movits mon fre'reone small darkness enclosesHow gold and purple that shovel thereto rags and rubbish disposesCharon beckons from tumultous wavesthen trice this ancient digger of gravesfor thee ne're grapeskin shall glisterwherefore my Movits come help me to raisea gravestone over our sisterEven deserous and modest abodeunder the sighing brancheswhere time and death, a marriage forebode'twixt beauty and ugliness ashesTo thee ne're jealousy findeth her waynor happiness footstep, swift to strayfilleth amid these barrowse'en enmity armed, as thou seest this daypiously breaketh her arrowThe little bell echoes the great bells groanroved in the door the precentornoisome with quiristers prayerful moanblesses those, who enterThe way to this templed city of tombsclimbs amid roses yellowing blossomsfragments of mouldering brierstill black-clad each mourner, his station assumesbows there deeply in tears
