Spectre At The Feast — Ihsahn

The practise of harmony
Is a delicate thing
The tension preceding
The bow and the string
It’s just how you phrase it
It’s not what you mean
The art of precision
Will keep your cuts clean
Until the day
You’re faced with a beast
That no one can tame
Until the day
You’re caught in a storm
Of what you became
Then, virtues and creed
Scatter like pearls from a chain
A chain
Blood on the ground
Washing away with the rain
The rain
Away with the rain
Peace of mind
Is a balancing act
Convenience dictates
What you add and subtract
A transient construct
Believe and deny
All truth is simple
Is that not doubly a lie?
Until the day
You’re faced with a beast
That no one can tame
Until the day
You’re caught in a storm
Of what you became
Virtues and creed
Scatter like pearls from a chain
A chain
Blood on the ground
Washing away with the rain
The rain
Away with the rain
The practise of harmony
Is a delicate thing
The tension preceding
The bow and the string
It’s just how you phrase it
It’s not what you mean
Is that not doubly a lie?
Virtues and creed
Scatter like pearls from a chain
A chain
Blood on the ground
Washing away with the rain
Falling, falling, falling