[Music by Bartsch November '93]
[Poems by Bartsch November '93]
In coldness of my dark bowel
a yell after
mercilessness
bequeaths a trace of eternal destruction
to my decency
Uneven throbbing shadowfire
streams with raised
melancholy
through twisted channels
of my forbode grief
In the black storms
of my mental agony
the deliverance
ripens
in form of a godless dusk
The faceless ancient
grasps with stony miming
into the cradle of mercy
and severs the
blood stained flag
But still it seems to me
that the lightbringer
spreads a shining shroud
over the shadow being
of an
owl which died in chains
As the rock in me bursts asunder
the round dance of the colouring
grows up in my
twilight