Thorns of Vespertine - Beneath the Watered Stones

Подробнее о видео

“By love’s command, I call thee to thy grace –
Let not his breath be pawn to briny grave.”

In a city of glass and neon, the stones still remember. Beneath the pavements and streetlamps lies the drowned skeleton of a medieval world – its cellars and halls now dark with centuries of water.

One drunken misstep sends a man plunging into the depths, through a broken street into a long-forgotten flooded cellar. As he sinks, his beloved leans over the chasm and, with the strength of her will, calls upon the spirits of the buried city. White lights stir in the deep – and bear him back to life.

“Beneath the Watered Stones” is a haunting ballad in Shakespearean cadence, weaving modern setting with ancient soul, told in a lovers’ dialogue of drowning and deliverance.

• Full lyrics inscribed below
• Subscribe, ye seekers of old beneath the new

#gothicmetal #doommetal #gothicdoom
- - -
In streets where modern torches blaze,
‘Neath stones that knew the older days,
There sleeps a hall of ancient keep,
Now drowned in dark, in waters deep.

  O wine, thy jest hath ta’en my steady tread,
And made the cobbles spin about my head.
A step awry – a splash – and all is black,
The water’s mouth doth pull and draw me back.

My love! Where hast thou slipp’d from out my sight?
Thy voice is drown’d, thine eyes are void of light.
The stones gape wide – I see thy form below,
And feel the current’s cold and cruel flow.

The dark is thick, the weight doth press me down,
I hear the bells of some long-flooded town.
The arches groan as if the church still pray’d,
And ghostly hands reach forth, yet give no aid.

O shades that guard this cellar’d, sunken place,
By love’s command, I call thee to thy grace!
Let not his breath be pawn to briny grave,
But bear him forth, ye spirits white and brave.

What light is this that breaks the murky shade?
What force unseen hath loosed the grip it laid?
I feel the tide turn soft, the weight grow slight –
Some gentle host doth lift me toward the light.

The water swells, yet yields thee to my hand,
Thy lips still pale, yet breath dost thou command.
Come back, my heart, from vault where dead men sleep,
And rise to streets where living lovers keep.

* * *
The paven road knows not what stirr’d beneath,
Nor how the flood unclasp’d its hidden teeth.
But some do say, where modern lamplights gleam,
The old stones dream – and guard what lovers dream.