The Room Of Paintings
Dawn Of Relic

I dream of thee
In these dreams
You lie dead before my feet
Outside, the winter night
Cold dismal sight
As the harvest moon paints our guise
Somewhere?
Somehow?
In time?
There's a killer on the loose
In the room of paintings
In the dead moonlight
Then I awake to this sight
There's no horror no fright
Just an omen of the
Forthcoming demise
So many nights
Long pineland winters passed
So many nights
Since I've heard the sea of june