Sopor Fratem Mortis Est

"... Kiss the corpse, the blessed sigh, enter the garden of the night
Shed a tear, suspended in fear ... - every soul is starving here ..."

The silence of the graves is not silent at all
Millions of the dead are crying in their graves
But no-one can hear them ... No-one ever hears
No-one can hear them ... Except for the dead themselves.

We can't die, no we can't die
It doesn't even matter if we try
We fear/hate the living, we shun the light
Our beloved tombs keep us sheltered inside
Sleep ... Sleep is the brother of death
So lie down beside this skeleton in the coldness of the grave
Let the embrace of his dead arms keep you all save and sound
Buried in slumber ... Silently ... Forever beneath the ground.

Stalk "the night", if that's your wish
With your foolish garlic-chain and crucifix
Yet, if you find our graves, we won't be there
There are thousands of places left for our despair.

And every night it's the same again
"the feast of blood is about to begin!"
We are wretched ... Pathetic ... The flickering souls
But staging our pain is all part of the whole
And when all lights are fading, leaving but a fleeting glow
Then, after far too many years, it's time for us to go.

"kiss the corpse the blessed sigh walk in the garden of the night
Shed a tear, suspended in fear ...cause every soul is starving here
Hold the carcass, sweetest lie, bury the body you chose to deny
Shed a tear, suspended in fear ... Every soul is starving here."