Absurd Existence - Ode to the Setting Sun | Текст песни

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Absurd Existence - Ode to the Setting Sun

The wonderful sweetness
of the violin floats down.
the hushed waters of dreams
the heart strings of the harp begin.
to long in aching music
spirit pined.

In wafts... that poignant sweetness drifts
until... the wounded soul oozes sadness
the red sun... a bubble of fire
drops slowly... toward the hill
while one... bird prattles
that the day is done.

Oh, setting sun that as
in reverend days sinkest in music
to thy smoothed sleep.
Oh, setting sun that as
in reverend days sinkest in music
to thy smoothed sleep.
Discrowned of homage
though yet crowned with rays.
Hymned not at harvest more.

Yet in this field where the cross planted reigns,
I know not what strange passion bows my head
to thee whose great command upon my veins
proves thee a god for me
not dead.

Setting sun that as
in reverend days, sinkest in music
to thy smoothed sleep,
discrowned of homage
though yet crowned with rays
hymned not at harvest more.

Yet in this field where the cross planted reigns,
I know not what strange passion bows my head
to thee whose great command upon my veins
proves thee a god for me...
...not dead.

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