Epistle No. 81 Lyrics - Singles - Candlemass

Mark how our shadow, mark Movits mon fre're 

one small darkness encloses 

How gold and purple that shovel there 

to rags and rubbish disposes 

Charon beckons from tumultous waves 

then trice this ancient digger of graves 

for thee ne're grapeskin shall glister 

wherefore my Movits come help me to raise 

a gravestone over our sister 

Even deserous and modest abode 

under the sighing branches 

where time and death, a marriage forebode 

'twixt beauty and ugliness ashes 

To thee ne're jealousy findeth her way 

nor happiness footstep, swift to stray 

filleth amid these barrows 

e'en enmity armed, as thou seest this day 

piously breaketh her arrow 

The little bell echoes the great bells groan 

roved in the door the precentor 

noisome with quiristers prayerful moan 

blesses those, who enter 

The way to this templed city of tombs 

climbs amid roses yellowing blossoms 

fragments of mouldering briers 

till black-clad each mourner, his station assumes 

bows there deeply in tears