Get Out of the Tower

Monstrous spire spears the purple Mote of dust breaches tarnished portal Far below Of it's own free will and accord It isn't every day that a god dies Or every age that a mortal tries To reach the terrace immortal World crawls around its axis An endless search for a perfect season Over the apogee of suffering And into the watchful eyes of fallen angels Watching from their holy places Blessed art they amongst the brethren Hero of the Hallowed Minstrel plays the weakness of mankind Upon bone horn and skin stretched over drum A half helm fountain of wildflowers A banner: cellar of salt over black field Impotent in the breathless air Suicidal stillness Mote of dust flies from portal In terror It was never meant to be Never, ever, ever, ever, ever Ever, ever, ever, ever Ever, ever, ever, ever Ever, ever, ever, ever Ever, ever, ever meant to be