Ordo Draconis - Wreckage lyrics

STILL afloat: persevering at each shore That may seem, would I comply, To render me ensconced... the voyage to draw Beyond the compa**, And what is more its buoyancy to sustain, While dashing billows the old sails try Life's vigil to conclude with life's refrain- The calm before the storm. Untimely night. The pond'rous fetters of the storm Cling when untethered Upon the floor they smite. Thus given vent sways the storm in revelry And brazen mockery. Why plunge into a wat'ry grave And wreck upon sea's edge Never to reach for which I crave And my very soul might pledge? Against the waves the vessel was matched And intermin'bly, when overcome's the breach, From high upon the breakers launched and dispatched Until at the craggy beach, Where shattered rest the carca**, Now subject to decay, And scattered tangly slivers of wood, Bound to rot away. What holds is but of brittle bone, A canopy of curved boughs, Neither grave nor engraved stone, In oblivion to drowse. Lest of the cliff the mere base be the end, Do I scale the precipice Without wings which larks from ether suspend While gapes below the deep abyss. But vertigo alone, Though precarious th'ascent remains aloft, Cannot tip the balance nor respite prompt Nor win the last moan, But comes another, the tone still soft. Then trees recede and lend me view, A glade remote, briars piercing through A mossy couch a singing lady's made, Until again they cast their shades. So did thoughts: suggest to me still The quiet of a dark repose And at the same time inspire will The primrose path to oppose. Either way I will proceed. Why slacken a sluggish pace, When toil may very relief concede I can well-nigh embrace? Since here is not where I can rest a**ured That to rest my lay be laid, Since proximity has ardour restored, What can me dissuade? But, should I leap at the wall? The timeless cauldron gape I saw, The void in which to drown my cares And stifle my but hoarse-worn call, When yet again I wash ashore. "Dissemble not The winces stirred by wry convulsions: Recuperation's near. "Wretched convalescent, Stagnant are the ancient waters: Redemption's here". Of what green's that sheet of moss With which my bed she drapes? Nothing more but the amb'guity Which consuming decay or growth shapes, A sheet with which to smother me, Makes me argue the self-imposed toss. Have I thus wrought a shift of aim? Non sequitur. What mysteries does she hold, or hold Divulged, but me against my will? How can beauty that's static and cold Yet lose itself, and lose me still For I am resolute? "Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, Illness a**umes Recovery's guise. "Is even willingness no Salutary elixir? Beyond resilience your headstrong Fever carries on". No and even so yes This selfsame state, once the port Now the sojourn, one of call, The height has crumbled Or have I in this: Disharmony Bent and snapped the tight-stringed neck As to the heart, When no string can life uphold, Numb and stale within a wreck. The question dawns upon me, Whether the encounter I might have created As such without authority Or I was the Proteus. Still afloat: the isle receding Into the distance, as level upon level was closed In mists the hindsight impeding, The tide of aurora has another day posed.