Testo di 'Gargoyles Ye Rose Aloft' di Divina Enema

Gargoyles Ye Rose Aloft
Peter:
In weary lust they have been sate o'er aisle
Seem to be screaming:

Demons:
Come we will - Stranger! Stay for a while...
You will be our capture - why won't you be...

Peter:
So the dome is assailed by deviltry

Demons:
Virulence 'thro abominable sight
Come we will
Ye wait!
Tremendous ae!

Peter:
They frown upon earth and earth's centuries
Here the gargoyle's high above mighty kings
The beast has outdone 'em so she's got to wheeze
Lay wallow in cloudy skies - watch 'em if you please

I was sick and tired of blear and rainy day
so I did decide to have my rest that way:
In spite of ostensible spat in my heart
I sat at the pulpit in hall breathing hard

Demons as gargoyles:
What would you say if we asked you
to remain here
until the time when days and nights are over -
and then... come we will!
Did you not e'er happen to feel
as if you had lived somewhere formerly
and long ago?
And now you do discover
you're looking at something
you had seen long, long ago

Peter:
I've lost the track of time.
Wild slumber swept away 'em all.
Foamy fog is upon the woe-stained floor,
pale gleam of silver chandeliers,
obscure and delusive chants -
have run over the choirs
so slow...

Arthur:
...Hence your virtuous mass
shall be almost like the sacred grove
where GOD himself does dwell and reign
among such saints which all you have become!

Peter:
The last one I heard:

Arthur:
Sow the seed of the faith
deep into your hearts and lay open the gates
do lead towards the skies - there's the only device
that does promise place for you in paradise!

Peter:
I was falling asleep so I did close my eyes...

I was assailed by the spectre of beast;
Lay waste all those charges 'cause I can't resist:
I was obsessed by the shadow of noose;
Take away your husk - I cannot refuse...

Oze:
Insidious grove! And you shall have
your wooden scales for your very own!

Peter:
It seems to me I won't suffer this a-waiting for...

Demons as gargoyles:
As the darkness doth ravish the light wi' delight
sae deceit decimateth all the devoted minds.
Chase the moribund rays of that desperate dawn -
blood-red hues
that ye're hunting among for the crown
ye had ne'er had - and probably never ye will...
Ae hath ne'er been belonging to yer majesty!

But... ye believe that they will
reveal the unreal,
the forces they hold
and the power they steal!

Peter:
Bemoan the lust of life with me!
Bewail their gloomy destiny!

Oze:
Just beware their bicker!
Of this ae... I don't care!

Caacrinolaas:
Well, ye lay bar those wooden gates!

Oze:
Run outwards the reality!
Over the yawning deep...

Both in chorus:
Where as ye sow so shall ye reap!

Peter:
Each one received,
swallowed and sipped
of that holy host'
"body" and "blood" -
wafer and vine...
You'll do as divine
when yield shall arise;
when you get Eucharist!

It seemed to me then...
They swallowed and sipped
instead of that holy host'
wafer and vine
only acorns and water....
like in sleepy nightmare!
All seemed to me then
"He seems to be dead!"

Lo! Whole vortex appears
drawing all wicked things:
whining demons and imps
there is nothing to seize!
They reflowed forth again
beating their wings in vain,
snarling; no one is to blame;
but it's true all the same!

This bout mire before me spread forth the abyss
so the heaven e'en seemed to be
on the verge of tears.
Were I asked what I'd seen
through the veil of that mist:
thick and grey one had covered swamps
with its quilt,
and the silence -
dead one did howl so through my ears
that I hardly could hear - I should probably say:
Almost nothing I felt through that torture but pain,
but that ominous emptiness did whirl me away...
As it seemed to me then -
far away from my corpse!
So that night swam before me - it turned out to be
one in which the moon barely shone over the sea
of that desolate gloom 'n hardly anything was
seen but blue marsh lights were skipping about
in the swamps.
And quagmire before me spread forth the abyss....
O'er that dark one a rather small stump
met my sight
sticking out from the earth, remnant of rotten trunk
of a tree that had grown o'er that deep long ago,
and roots spreading throughout this one
like mighty snakes,
twisted roots reaching downwards into that bog,
as if there to quench
their blind and desperate thirst...
Met my sight deep
and roots simply hanging in the air.

Arthur:
Behold his holy holt anon...

Peter:
But I shall be dead long before
everything will have become clear to me...
I have never heard such improper song
e'en though incredible call it ye will !

Demons as gargoyles:
Call us inscrutable!
Then all the things of that sort shall cease!
Call 'em incredible;
wood or stone... and bog if you please!
Which guise do you prefer?
Whose scales do you mean to be the chosen one?

Caacrinolaas:
You had better petrify!
Why won't you try to deify your way?