Whispering Soul

The old ones were
The old ones are
And the old ones shall be

A temple of shame
He is caste in the never, ending maze of darkness
Waiting for the light's embrace reaching the path
To the once distant shrine of his atonement
Hope of repention buried under an ocean of forgotten tears
Consumed with the pain of the innocent's gaze
The passage of time severing the shackles of his enslavement
An oath of damnation ordained by the mark of cain
Reaping the winter's harvests from untold sins
Equinoctial winds rhyming dirges of enchantment

These bloodstained hands, can they claim redemption?
I can hear his word, guiding me to the dawn of my descension
Shadows beyond time, sentinels of yore
Dreams of the vanquished, lycantropic eyes spin the web of communion

Beyond the blind sterility of a pri, mordial conscience
The burden of sagacity the lost duality of fate
In this silent shelter, the angel of light awaits
I am the nuptial gift to a dying surrogate