Opeth. Blackwater Park. Dirge for November. Zeneszám

Lost, here is nowhere
Searching home still
Turning past me
All are gone
Time is now

The Omen showed
Took me away
Preparations are done
This can't last

The mere reflection
Brought disgust
No ordeal to conquer
This firm slit

It sheds upon the floor
Dripping into a pool
Grant me sleep
Take me under

Like the wings of a dove
Folding around
I fade into
This tender care