In a bloodmoon rising with the fog,
The silhouette of raven’s lullaby
Hangs like a sculpture of solitude,
Morose as the surrender of death

Raven with the silver wings,
Trespass my endless night divine,
Its essence wrapped in tears of dusk,
Only thy crystal sphere of woe
Illuminates this dark recess

Cursed be this portrait of reverie’s ill,
The colors subdued by the grey,
The brush strokes mingled with lies,
It’s visage veiled by hues of death,
Illustrating the failure of its beholder

Then the dawn came,
And folded me in its arms,
Devoid of the masque of compassion,
Swathing me in solitude;
My burial shroud of fog and ice

In the glowing remnants of a candlelit sky,
Clouds of raven’s lamentations breed
Calling him home to shadowlands,
Over ominous mountains of sorrow,
Where once the raven flew

Raven with the silver wings,
Enter my nocturnal velvet majesty,
And here my acclamation of solitude

I shall not resist,
Tempted by dusk and eternal breath,
I weep beneath a portrait of tears,
Until raven casts off his cloak of reverence,
Spreads his broken wings,
And flies into oblivion

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