A painter I have been For as long as I can think But never quenched the feather Into the firkin of black ink My motif's been of beauty Diluted and too light My stroke of brush is worthless Until I paint the blackest night... A darkened empty room A screen in dreadful white Waiting for the flame Of inspiration to ignite So I begin my work I sweep the brush through black A line on the horizon Now there is no coming back But to my great excitement Like in a secret rite With trembling hand I paint And fill the cloth with night Deeper and deeper I fall into trance I am led by a sorcerous hand With death in my eyes And madness at heart Grandeur is cast into art... Of the shadow, of the sin And death therein And darkness fills my sky Of the brave and seldom kin Is he who paints the night By a magic arrangement And the assistance of fate Stroke by stroke I descend Into the abyss I create Deeper and deeper I fall into trance I am led by a sorcerous hand With death in my eyes And madness at heart Grandeur is cast into art... Of the shadow, of the sin And death therein And darkness fills my sky Of the brave and seldom kin Is he who paints the night From that secret fountain Henceforth I will be fed Never shall I leave its haunt Until the day I hail the dead I vomit on your junk And piss on your false skill You shall never understand The glory of good and ill Shadow, darkness, death and sin Half off from this pack You will never be complete Until you paint the night in black Bu döküman AkorMerkezi.com'da yayınlanmıştır. http://www.akormerkezi.com