Dirge for November - Opeth

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