In the shadow of this reactionary abyss I find I'm dying
In harmony to coronal storms in bloom theres nothing left that is
Weathered a storm of fists and words I find eclipsing
The melody to successive widening rooms fills me with dread
La, La
Swa mec gelome laðgeteonan
þreatedon þearle. Ic him þenode
deoran sweorde, swa hit gedefe wæs.
Næs hie ðære fylle gefean hæfdon,
manfordædlan, þæt hie me þegon,
symbel ymbsæton sægrunde neah;
ac on mergenne mecum wunde be
yðlafe uppe lægon,sweordum aswefede...
In the shadow of this reactionary abyss I find I'm dying
In harmony to coronal storms in bloom theres nothing left that is so tangible
credits
from The Smoking Mirror,
released October 18, 2012
Original text passage from 'Beowulf' read by Andy Alm
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