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Darzamat - False Sleepwalker
| Submitted by | : | luffy |
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[Beuthen (Bethania), Silesia, 27th September 1909
After an accident during one of his journeys, a young student of medicine named Filip Stoudilski is unable to continue his voyage not only due to the breakdown of his automobile, but also because of the thick mist which suddenly veils the entire area.]
[Filip Stoudilski's Journal
27 September, 1909, Beuthen, Silesia - the estate of countess Josephine von Köchmeister.
Had an accident last night. Luckily, nothing happened. I am not in heart to describe it now, as I am pressed for time. Friedrich, the Countess's footman appeared on the spot immediately and brought me here, to this nineteenth century manor house. I have been here for a couple of hours. The butler has already shown me around and told me about the guests who had once stayed in the first-floor rooms. He mentioned, for example, a man who had not slept all his life. Then he told me that there was no point of visiting the upper floor rooms, as apart from the countess's chambers, his own room, and a little cell belonging to the old gardener, there was nothing to see. In spite of that, I decided to have a look around on my own.]
In the dark you head towards the crossroads
Where the wind blows without restraint
Cold and soulless like a wax figure
At times rising over the clouds
You won't get here in the daytime,
You won't see anything in the light of day
The gale is flapping its iron wing
Staring inside with its eyes like two abyssal vaults
The armoured heart won't break, it'll just fall into the gulf of feelings
Hundreds of nights, hundreds of days
All mercilessly sad
All cruelly lonely
All pervaded with gloom
All marked with pain
Over at the sky that never ever dawns
Fell clouds of pallid spectres spellbinding shadows bleak
Eyes so dark that you need to turn away lest you fall into the void
Murk seeps in every night, of blackness made, in coldness carved
A swarm of morbid phantasms is teeming in your thoughts
Their deathly hands upon your brow
The sleepless flock pushing at you
Leering at you
Hundreds of nights, hundreds of days
After an accident during one of his journeys, a young student of medicine named Filip Stoudilski is unable to continue his voyage not only due to the breakdown of his automobile, but also because of the thick mist which suddenly veils the entire area.]
[Filip Stoudilski's Journal
27 September, 1909, Beuthen, Silesia - the estate of countess Josephine von Köchmeister.
Had an accident last night. Luckily, nothing happened. I am not in heart to describe it now, as I am pressed for time. Friedrich, the Countess's footman appeared on the spot immediately and brought me here, to this nineteenth century manor house. I have been here for a couple of hours. The butler has already shown me around and told me about the guests who had once stayed in the first-floor rooms. He mentioned, for example, a man who had not slept all his life. Then he told me that there was no point of visiting the upper floor rooms, as apart from the countess's chambers, his own room, and a little cell belonging to the old gardener, there was nothing to see. In spite of that, I decided to have a look around on my own.]
In the dark you head towards the crossroads
Where the wind blows without restraint
Cold and soulless like a wax figure
At times rising over the clouds
You won't get here in the daytime,
You won't see anything in the light of day
The gale is flapping its iron wing
Staring inside with its eyes like two abyssal vaults
The armoured heart won't break, it'll just fall into the gulf of feelings
Hundreds of nights, hundreds of days
All mercilessly sad
All cruelly lonely
All pervaded with gloom
All marked with pain
Over at the sky that never ever dawns
Fell clouds of pallid spectres spellbinding shadows bleak
Eyes so dark that you need to turn away lest you fall into the void
Murk seeps in every night, of blackness made, in coldness carved
A swarm of morbid phantasms is teeming in your thoughts
Their deathly hands upon your brow
The sleepless flock pushing at you
Leering at you
Hundreds of nights, hundreds of days
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