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Sorrows Of The Moon - Celtic Frost
This evening the moon dreams more lazily
As some fair woman
Lost in cushions deep
With gentle hand caresses listlessly
The contour of her ******* before she sleeps
On
On
Velvet backs of avalanches soft
She often lies enraptured as she dies
And gazes on white visions aloft
Which like a blossoming to heaven rise
When sometimes on this globe in indolence
She lets a secret tear drop down by chance
A poet set against oblivion
Takes in his hand this pale and furtive tear
This opal drop where rainbow hues appear
And hides it in his breast far from the sun
