Ailing faces fall like rain from spires of gaunt cathedrals above
And onto autumnal wilted trees fall grave clothes of burials recent and near
Momento mori, the joyless dance
Momento mori, the distant songs
There we stand for in silence all laughter cracks
The open door and gaping shadowy halls stand wide in cold splendor of marble and stone
And from pulpits appear faces that stare, cruel mockeries of the closest in life now gone
Momento mori, the joyless dance
Momento mori, the distant songs
From leaden corridors below slither the words of all before
Twelve angels of veiled bone on shadowed rafters and staring down
Twelve angels of veiled bone on shadowed rafters and staring down
And there now riddles unlock with eerie sound and crushing weight
All Stygian beasts, angels and loved in sacrosanct chambers of the pit
