Nightwish: Imaginaerum

#12: Song of Myself

The nightingale is still locked in the cage. The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs. An old oak sheltering me from the blue. Sun bathing on it's dead frozen leaves.

A catnap in the ghost town of my heart. She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts. Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride. Raving harlequins, gigantic toys. 

A song of me, a song in need, of a courageous symphony. A verse of me a verse in need, of a pure-heart singing me to peace. 

(All that great, heart lying still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying still on an angelwing)

All that great heart lying still. (All that great, heart lying, still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying, still on an angelwing)

All that great heart lying still. In silent suffering. Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end. What is left for encore. Is the same old dead boy's song. Sung in silence.

(All that great, heart lying, still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying, still on an angelwing)

A midnight flight into Covington Woods. A princess and a panther by my side. These are Territories I live for. I'd still give my everything to love you more.

A song of me, a song in need, of a courageous symphony. A verse of me a verse in need, of a pure-heart singing me to peace.

(All that great, heart lying, still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying, still on an angelwing)

Now, all that great heart lying still. In silent suffering. Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end. What is left for encore. Is the same old dead boy's song. Sung in silence.

(All that great, heart lying, still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying, still on an angelwing)

A silent symphony. A hollow opus, 1, 2, 3.

Sometimes the sky is piano black. Piano black over cleansing waters.

Resting pipes, verse of bore. Rusting keys without a door.

Sometimes the sky is piano black. Piano black over cleansing waters.

(All that great, heart lying, still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying, still on an angelwing)

(All that great, heart lying, still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying, still on an angelwing)

(All that great, heart lying, still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying, still on an angelwing)

(All that great, heart lying, still and slowly dying. All that great, heart lying, still on an angelwing)

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street. With a begging bowl in his shaking hand. Trying to smile but hurting infinitely, nbody notices. I do, but walk by. 

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic. It's half-light and he's in tears. When he finally cums his eyes are cascading. 

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me. All pride has left his wild eyes. I wish I had my leg to spare.

A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars. She's never loved him more.

An arabesque girl enters an elevator with me. All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck. Terribly sweet perfume deafens me. She's going to dinner alone. That makes her even more beautiful.

I see a model's face on a brick wall. A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill. A city that worships flesh.

The 1st thing I ever heard was a wandering. Man telling his story. It was you, the grass under my bare feet. The campfire in the dead of the night. The heavenly black of sky and sea?

It was us. Roaming the rainy roads, combing the guided beaches. Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morning. Bathing in places no-one's seen before. Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island. Clad in nothing but the self - beauty's finest robe.

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature. In early air of the dawn of life. A sight to silence the heavens.

I want to travel where life travels, following it's permanent lead. Where the air tastes like slow music. Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden. I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture. I would bathe in a world of sensation. Love, goodness and simplicity. (While violated and imprisoned by technology)

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment. I used to experience true love. That love remains infintie, as I'll never be the man my father is.

How can you "just be yourself" when you don't know who you are? Stop saying "I know how you feel", how could anyone know how another feels?

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar, whore, politician, wrongdoer? I am, you are, all of them already.

Dear child, stop working, go play, forget every rule. There's no fear in a dream.

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?". - A child asked me. "What's the colour of our lullaby?".

I've never been so close to truth as then. I touched it's silver lining.

Death is the winner in any war, nothing noble in dying for your religion. For your country, for ideology, for faith, for another man, yes.

Paper is dead without words. Ink idle without a poem. All the world dead without stories. Without love and disarming beauty.

(Careless realism costs souls)

Ever seen the Lord smile? All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man? Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks? Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is, all you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground.

I see all those empty cradles and wonder. If man will never change.

I, too, wish to be a decent manboy but all I am. Is smoke and mirrors. Still given everything, may I be deserving.

And there forever remains the change from G to E minor.