The Most of Merry Funerals Lyrics

Beseeching...god the sufferer, the maker, the murderer!
Witnessing...the rape of Persephone, the death of the Nazarene!

Within the mirror that most befoul,
God the abhorrent and God the foul,
Screams he wove inside the Earth,
God the burdened and God the sad.

My tongue like lead; I suffer with your speech,
Above me the dread; and the Heavens weep,
Beside me the grave; and Hell beneath,
We once more send what we won't retrieve.

Beseeching...god the sufferer, the maker, the murderer!
Witnessing...the surge of rigor souls from the depths of Tartarus.

My cup runneth over; with a wine I bled,
My song is for funerals; this dirge won't wait,
Your ghost presides over; these proceedings,
In our newfound home; 'tis always evening.

Gather ghastly rosebuds and rusted bulbs,
The garden witch dances madly, ecstatically,
All aboard the grave new world,
The season of funerals, the spring of miseries.

Beseeching...god the sufferer, the maker, the murderer!
Witnessing...the rage of Sisyphus, the torment of Orestes.

I hosted the most of merry funerals,
With arms to welcome every new ghost,
We raised blemished voices in morbid song,
And sent God pale and weeping to a grim vault,
And in his name the things of the Earth die,
And we carry our blame to the destroying sky,
The result is a rain within some call tears.