Opeth

Confessor
Of the tragedies in man
Lurking in the core of us all
The last dying call for the everlost
Brief encounters, bleeding pain
Lepers coiled neath the trees
Dying men in bewildered soliloquys
Perversions bloom round the bend
Seekers, lost in their quest
Ghosts of friends frolic
under the waning moon
It is the year of death
Wielding his instruments
Stealth sovereign reaper
Touching us with ease
Infecting the roots in an instant
Burning crop of disease
I am just a spectator