In Your Sleep - Escape the Clouds

I was fortunate in my Romanov life,

Save for one aspect: the absence of a wife.

Tired of these courtiers and their flaws

I followed in the example set by Adam and God.

I built your curves out of leather and brass.

Stretched velvet skin over a porcelain mask.

Fashioned eyes that would never know tears.

Before your enamel dried I was endeared.

My mechanical bride.

My object of affection.

My doll-eyed dream.

You are pure perfection.

I showed you the world from Paris to the Orient.

Bought you the finest gifts on Nevsky Prospekt.

Held you in my arms as we sailed the Neva river.

Gave you my heart through all manner ofgestures.

Talk of my madness filled the court parties.

They laughed at your stiff dancing and constant silence.

They called you the perfect wife for the man with no self-respect,

Who couldn’t earn himself the pleasure of the flesh.

My mechanical bride

My clockwork creation

My darkening dream

You’ve become my unmaking.

Maybe I should kill you in your sleep.

I’ve already killed you in my dreams.

Maybe I should kill you in your sleep.

It would make life so much easier for me.

I stand beside you in the dark of night,

A Bordeaux in my left hand, a hammer in my right.

As the winding chamber tightens your cold clockwork heart

I beg God for the strength to smash you apart.

How many times have I been in this position?

My blow always stayed by the same vision:

Of myself in tears, cradling your fractured face,

Hating myself for loving this angel of disgrace.