Kathaarsys Gnostic Seasons
In the swamp shaded of the black wizard
ends the gnostic dance of 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 winter
and while 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...
constructes 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 our battles startled the twilight
when our blood ran pure
by the brooks of gloominess
And I await the rain now
The obscure fox betrays the coldness of the cypress
In the glades of forest
we watch the expressiveness of the death
and nothing make to foresee the storm
Upon the silent water shatters
the twilight cerulean of the firmamment
The rage whereupon were written this words
leaves no place to the wretchedness
The tragedy know this lands
