Walk with me down to the water's edge Where the mirrors lie and wait... This feeling speaks With the quiet flutes of fall, That disturb the sleep of sunken images, The memory of voices in abandoned rooms, It breathes darkly through a lonely man, The kiss of brother Cain Walk with me down to the rivers edge Where the secrets lie and wait... These wounds bleed The solemn pride of mourning, An overwhelming pain nourishing the flame, The cold embrace of breaking hearts, And though the nails may hurt Don't take this pain away This sadness speaks Of golden plains and lakes of blue, Like the curse of a wrathful god Like dew dropping from a thorn, It speaks of things in secret tongues, It is speaking out a name
Walk with me down to the water's edge Where the mirrors lie and wait... This feeling speaks With the quiet flutes of fall, That disturb the sleep of sunken images, The memory of voices in abandoned rooms, It breathes darkly through a lonely man, The kiss of brother Cain Walk with me down to the rivers edge Where the secrets lie and wait... These wounds bleed The solemn pride of mourning, An overwhelming pain nourishing the flame, The cold embrace of breaking hearts, And though the nails may hurt Don't take this pain away This sadness speaks Of golden plains and lakes of blue, Like the curse of a wrathful god Like dew dropping from a thorn, It speaks of things in secret tongues, It is speaking out a name
