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Aesma Daeva - Dawn of the New Athens cover art

Dawn of the New Athens

TypeStudio Full-length
GenresOperatic Symphonic Metal
LabelsRoot Of All Evil
Album rating :  -
Votes :  0
Lyrics > A > Aesma Daeva Lyrics (33) >

Dawn of the New Athens Lyrics

Submitted by level DevilDoll
1. Tisza's Child (6:36)
Daughters, sons, river deaths:
faces pale like moons;
and hands, bright stars.
Fair children cradle water graves.
Vast river, spirits, can you hear us pray?

Arise, hear my lullaby,
how I wreck my broken love
upon unlived lives.
Vast river, dark water,
I drown in lament endlessly.

Spirit guide, river stag arise,
eyes ablaze and hide steaming,
pull treasures from turbid water.

Tisza's child clothed in liquid light arise, awake, mystify.
How I drowning bathe in rivers
that flood all hope in water,
final lord, and I will fly to thee.
2. The Bluish Shade (5:14)
When you whispered your secret,
floating afar on a winter's fog,
you lashed your saint,
so I sing my silent vow.

Nothing in this world lives on, my friend.
Nothing in this world brings back our silent vow.

I need answers for my passion.
I need answers to life's questions.

I wish to live like all men;
I was bound by many hopes.
I wish to live like all men;
I was bound by many hopes.
We have to pay the price.

The witching hour of this dream:
your eyes red from the salt of the sea
and the sucking voyage of the ache that came from me.

In the bluish shade of the garden I contemplate.
In the bluish shade of the grove I grow to hate.
In the bluish shade I find the path of paths.

The consequence of this love.
The consequence of my first love.

I wish to live like all men;
I was bound by many hopes.
I wish to live like all men;
I was bound by many hopes.
We have to pay the price.

My new chant begins,
no longer scared of my life.
3. Artemis (6:22)
In your name, cruel sacrifice, embrace my art.
Love let me go.
In your name, cruel goddess touch,
embrace this song, the wind, thy womb.

Virginal steps to be born,
embrace this flesh I need to know.
Under dark moon wolf-skin throne flowered thy nymphs.
Let flow thy womb.

I don't need anyone.
I don't love anyone.
Embrace the art of letting go.

Away washed in velvet tide,
I tremble as I kiss your shores.
I lay upon endless sands,
worship a voice beyond my own.

On the plains of Nysa I die;
when I arise, I mourn alone.
Your love fails me far from home.
Embrace my art of letting go.

I don't need anyone.
I don't love anyone.

Artemis, please be kind to me.
My own wolves will soon devour me.
Artemis, please be kind to me.
My own wolves cruel' devour me.
4. Hymn to the Sun (4:21)
To bright palace of gold sun
I fly on flaming steed
to steer my father's god wings.
O please, fulfill my dream.

My queen is the bright-haired sun.
Herald young horse master;
crescendo the dawn chorus;
bow to bronzen pilot;
as Pantheon blessed sky father, fly to the gods:
few mortals have flown on wings.

Fierce idols drive blood sun
through black heavens
so how shall I dream?
I'll weave a new verse
each dawn for you.

I fear I follow illusion.
Is this my final veil?
The mirage of the phoenix
from ash daily arises.
5. D'Oreste (3:25)

D'Oreste, d'ajace
Ho in seno i tormenti,
D'Aletto la face
Già morte mi dà.

Squarciatemi il core
Ceraste, serpenti,
O un ferro il dolore
in me finirà.
6. The Camp of Souls (5:36)
[An adaption of the poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford]

My white canoe, like the silvery air
O'er the River of Death that darkly rolls
When the moons of the world are round and fair,
I paddle back from the 'Camp of Souls.'
When the wishton-wish in the low swamp grieves
Come the dark plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'

Two hundred times have the moons of spring
Rolled over the bright bay's azure breath
Since they decked me with plumes of an eagle's wing,
And painted my face with the 'paint of death,'
And from their pipes o'er my corpse there broke
The solemn rings of the blue 'last smoke.'

Two hundred times have the wintry moons
Wrapped the dead earth in a blanket white;
Two hundred times have the wild sky loons
Shrieked in the flush of the golden light
Of the first sweet dawn, when the summer weaves
Her dusky wigwam of perfect leaves.

Two hundred moons of the falling leaf
Since they laid my bow in my dead right hand
And chanted above me the 'song of grief'
As I took my way to the spirit land;
Yet when the swallow the blue air cleaves
Come the dark plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'

White are the wigwams in that far camp,
And the star-eyed deer on the plains are found;
No bitter marshes or tangled swamp
In the Manitou's happy hunting-ground!
And the moon of summer forever rolls
Above the red men in their 'Camp of Souls.'

Blue are its lakes as the wild dove's breast,
And their murmurs soft as her gentle note;
As the calm, large stars in the deep sky rest,
The yellow lilies upon them float;
And canoes, like flakes of the silvery snow,

Through the tall, rustling rice-beds come and go.

Green are its forests; no warrior wind
Rushes on war trail the dusk grove through,
With leaf-scalps of tall trees mourning behind;
But South Wind, heart friend of Great Manitou,
When ferns and leaves with cool dews are wet,
Bows flowery breaths from his red calumet.

Never upon them the white frosts lie,
Nor glow their green boughs with the 'paint of death';
Manitou smiles in the crystal sky,
Close breathing above them His life-strong breath;
And He speaks no more in fierce thunder sound,
So near is His happy hunting-ground.

Yet often I love, in my white canoe,
To come to the forests and camps of earth:
'Twas there death's black arrow pierced me through;
'Twas there my red-browed mother gave me birth;
There I, in the light of a young man's dawn,
Won the lily heart of dusk 'Springing Fawn.'

And love is a cord woven out of life,
And dyed in the red of the living heart;
And time is the hunter's rusty knife,
That cannot cut the red strands apart:
And I sail from the spirit shore to scan
Where the weaving of that strong cord began.

But I may not come with a giftless hand,
So richly I pile, in my white canoe,
Flowers that bloom in the spirit land,
Immortal smiles of Great Manitou.
When I paddle back to the shores of earth
I scatter them over the white man's hearth.

For love is the breath of the soul set free;
So I cross the river that darkly rolls,
That my spirit may whisper soft to thee
Of thine who wait in the 'Camp of Souls.'
When the bright day laughs, or the wan night grieves,
Come the dusky plumes of red 'Singing Leaves.'
[Isabella Valancy Crawford ]
7. Ancient Verses (4:32)
Once there was myth and mystery.
Now we destroy our ancient verse, our history.
The eyes of my comrades watching, they haunt me.

Dream a sinking ship in waters green;
death down to fate; my sacrifice, sorrow fathoms deep.
The vision of a golden country, it haunts me.

Dome of fragile glass: hunger to thieve,
children shelter in paper arms, stolen refugees;
the torture to confess not to betray, Love Ministry.

Cold-hearted secrets lie mute in ice, no tongue to speak
what's always been and always it shall be lost to lies.
These icy tongues of wordless thoughts,
they've never been and never they shall be.
8. Since the Machine (6:49)
Since recorded time and since the dawn of man,
there have been three types of men.

The low man to the high man

The rending of the world into three great superstates
was long foretold in the halls of men.

A floating fortress guards the secrets of the ocean ways,
fending the floodgates from the sword of truth.

Since the machine!
The meek and low christen the kingdom's coming,
building the great machines of war.
Men feed machines this century of dark
coming of the hour of the kingdom of night.

Dies irae. Dies illa, solvet saeclum.
Dies irae. Dies illa solvet saeclum in favilla.

The act of war, destruction; mankind cannot grow stronger.
The act of war, destruction; mankind cannot grow stronger.

Teste Orwell cum sibylla.
Quantus tremor est futurus.

Keep the wheels of knowledge turning.

Power battles power battles highest hopes of men.
Smell horses breath and the sweat for lies.
Three times I dreamt this verse; three times I cast my curse,
as was foretold in the halls of man.

Since the machine!

Since recorded time and since the dawn of man,
there have been three types of men.
9. The Loon (6:32)
Upon the lake, upon the windless water,
swim down to me, beautiful bird.
Mercy, stay not forever out of reach.
I hear, I hear your evening song,
strange alien song.

Watered in blood in which I sink and drown,
in flesh and by flora shackle-bound,
feed the ache of this exile's alien song.
I hear, I hear your evening song.

Spirit bird unbind my withered limbs
and cut me from this torment. Unchain me.
Mercy, don't abandon me.

Arrayed in pearl, blushing illuminate deep wounds,
vast seas that rack and crush.
Moonlight upon my throat. Tempest black.

Mercy, stay not forever.
I suffer your endless song.
Here I choke.

Replume, refire, ravage my unholy ghost,
my heavenly mate, burning bright;
bloat and cry out, flame in the infinite,
for all the world is spirit furnace.

Old age, my god, love, and white this blizzard night;
all songs strangle under ice, flame out, and die,
forsaken evermore; linger frozen everlasting song.
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