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Ancient Tome - The Way Of The World Is To Bloom Lyrics

A pairing of the opposite, two branches of life joined but still separate; colored apart but one and the same. A sacred bath to self baptize: Pritisangam, a place of love, Amur-Ussuri, a place of death. Two bodies merge and form one but men on either side shake sticks and throw rocks. One and the same but separate. Distant within sight. Wet air rises as it would anywhere else and as it should

I look into the eyes of my enеmy as he drowns in the water that savеd me. I gasp for air but find nothing but him staring from above. My lungs soak and my vision comes to a point. The water stains my blood

We're swept to the joining. We choke on the same air. We leak from the same wounds. Our same Creator builds our tomb. Our graves overlook the current as it flows forever by, two rivers joined with no reason why

One and the same but separate. One and the same but separate

I'm no longer who I thought I was before you
I'm not longer who I was before you

A legion of horribles, hundreds in number, half naked or clad in costumes attic or biblical or wardrobed out of a fevered dream with the skins of animals and silk finery and pieces of uniform still tracked with the blood of prior owners, coats of slain dragoons, frogged and braided cavalry jackets, one in a stovepipe hat and one with an umbrella and one in white stockings and a bloodstained weddingveil and some in headgear of cranefeathers or rawhide helmets that bore the horns of bull or buffalo and one in a pigeontailed coat worn backwards and otherwise naked and one in the armor of a spanish conquistador, the breastplate and pauldrons deeply dented with old blows of mace or saber done in another country by men whose very bones were dust and many with their braids spliced up with the hair of other beasts until they trailed upon the ground and their horses’ ears and tails worked with bits of brightly colored cloth and one whose horse’s whole head was painted crimson red and all the horsemen’s faces gaudy and grotesque with daubings like a company of mounted clowns, death hilarious, all howling in a barbarous tongue and riding down upon them like a horde from a hell more horrible yet than the brimstone land of Christian reckoning, screeching and yammering and clothed in smoke like those vaporous beings in regions beyond right knowing where the eye wanders and the lip jerks and drools