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Blackthorn

Immortelle for a Hollow Grave

The cold voice of the tempest,
It makes me run away
Theres something bittersweet
And true in the air this day
At long last I can whirl round
With fallen xanthic leaves
Unite with birds of passage and fly above the trees

(The) stories that must flash out
With a pulsing aorta of (the) sky
And then must turn to ashes
I kiss them all goodbye
The rotten lips taste divine,
Cant explain to you why
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The last pain pierces my heart
I laugh and deeply cry

And stunning is the black-eyed thicket
And the swamped grass,
Not a human, not a god yet,
Come, veni foras!
And stunning is the black-eyed thicket
And the swamped grass,
Not a human, not a god,
Mother, veni foras