Ironical Communion (Amber) — Ephel Duath

Sweet Irony, hits my tangled troubles, and frees this blade from the stranding line Cynically slides, Through dusty gemstone, To offer a soft respite to my ethereal plagues.

Let me cover with silence, The figures around me: A velvety sigh on the noisy stammering.

Grow to a physical essence, And heavily walk on this living mosaic Called pain... I can hear the breath of every dowel: My demons are waiting...

Conceal this fool architecture From my (singing) conviction. Blind my cyclopian, trifling dreads And dethrone the useless days From my infested eyes. Irony, my care.