Turn Loose the Swans - My Dying Bride

So little of what we observe, is the girl herself

Elaborate, scented coiffers

Adieu d’amour

Vast is the heirs ballroom

Let the rich give you presents

Heaven pours from her throat, as she sings and as she dances

The fumes of rich swine, honeyglazed and dripping, playing in the air

My mouth eager and wishing

But I return to this nightingale

Her hair all fiery red

Deep it is and wild

My weakness will be fed

Boys whipped on the the Altar of Diana, sometimes until they died

The cunning wily merchant, and his four crippled horses

Tales told in warlike manner

The storyteller by the fire

While musing deeply on this sight, the songster stirred my desire

You are sweet and fine to listen to

Long tresses about her neck

Yet much is false

This mighty evening, I’ve seen no face

This is crushing me

My quill it aches

Turn loose the swans that drew my poets craft

I’ll dwell in desolate cities

You burned my wings

I leave this ode, splendid victorious through the carnage

I wanted to touch them all

I wanted to touch them all