Into The Painted Grey کے بول

The jagged lines in these wooden hands Speak of a silent aeon below the depths Of an austere ebon tide For centuries kingdoms have risen Upon the ancient hands of a God Once severed for the world's birth A sacrifice to the storms of life Now darkness is thine sanctum Temples of magma steam across the grey The arc that transcends my iconic pride For I am not an ageless God, no, I am imprisoned by time These ancient palms shall once again be mine Hands...hands that lift the oceans To vertical depths above the stars For when I die, the universe will die with me And all will be lost forever gone Where am I? How long shall I suffer here? Forlorn in the cold neolithic embrace Forsaken deep in the sullen tide How long shall I suffer here? Perched on the cliffside gazing out into the brine My archaic beard pours downward and joins the feral sea I am the heritage; the quintessence of myth and legend The archetype of pagan might and divinity Hands...hands that lift the oceans To vertical depths beyond the stars I gather a celestial blanket around these tired bones And finally slumber in the clouds of ice These are my hands So it is done