Opeth

It was all true
A parlour strode, and the night sets forever
I stray in the quiet cold
And you gird me when I dare to listen
Elastic meadow, endless arms of sorrow
Lips try to form because
Trying to adapt to the wilderness
Where even foes close their eyes and leave
We are inside the glade
Every now and then I wipe the dust aside
To remember...
How I drape my face with my bare hands
The same that brought me here