[Xenoyr & Tim Charles]
Can you remember the words of our dying Mother?
All winters' white and wonderful
The third eye spies the greatest pain
In league with the cycle of life, feel the change

Her breath of frost upon the house of Man's beating heart
Oh, sleep children, such colours to be seen
Sanguine glaciers, the veins of our prelude
For this is where She lies. Mother, be our eyes
Be our eyes

As the icicles fall, moments of reverence
The invention of all, everything calls and every life-line ignites
The tears of Mother, everlasting season
But the phoenix empire expires. Exhales, the curtain call to embers
Within us She lives, around us She's dying
Fading lights blacken, garden's euphoric, cowering underworld order
The winds sing our dirge. This is where She lies
The veiling unveiled. Mother, our Mother beats down her ashen wings
Mother, be our eyes

Grey and dripping the blood of Mother
Feel Her pain
Evolving, the shrouds She gathers
This is where She lies
In abstraction without colours
We die with the fall of the icicles
Lost to pigment the pale paradise
Swept in tow to the danse macabre
In hand to the cold grasp of time
Broken shutters gape open wide
Breathing in hoarse whispers on high

Cry white-noise, witch choir
Ice tears of our Mother

Pillars of monolith and ice, laced with lightning
Besieged by the void, the anti-matter of mind
Once were painted walls, now they preach parched skin petals
The freeze-frame tomb unfolds for our Mother
Our Mother

Cry white-noise, witch choir
Fall of the icicles

Mother
Mother
Mother
Mother