Life is a clay urn on the mantle And I am shattered on the floor Life is a clay urn on the mantle And I am scattered on the floor We are the wounds and
[Instrumental]
When all is withered and torn And all has perished and fallen These great wooden doors shall remain closed. . . When the heart is a grave filled with
Through vast valleys I wonder To the highest peaks On pathways through a wild forgotten landscape In search of God, in spite of man 'til the lost forsaken
Like snowfall, you cry a silent storm Your tears paint rivers on this oaken wall. . . Amber nectar, misery ichor . . .cascading in streams of hallowed
