Rotting Christ -The Raven (by Edgar Allan Poe)

Taken from the upcoming album “The Heretics”. Out February 15,
2019! Order here: http://smarturl.it/RCHeretics
Subscribe to our channel: https://som.lnk.to/RCYT

Poem’s recitation by Stratis Steele from Endomain

Music by Sakis Tolis
Lyrics by Sakis Tolis / Poetry by Edgar Allan Poe
Produced by Sakis Tolis
Recorded in Pentagram Studios-Athens
Mixed in Fascination Street Studio-Orebro by Jens Borgen
Mastered in Fascination Street Studio-Orebro by Tony Lindgren
Video and photo manipulation by John Kaimakamis and the Nightwatchers

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The Raven
(by Edgar Allan Poe)

I fall from the holy empire,an angel that loosing his path.
I am tormented with passion and fire, i am tormented with pride,greed and lust

The raven,
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

I am dreaming flying higher and higher, i am dreaming hope, fear,love and pain
My gracefull forbidden desire,they always call whisper my name

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted,
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore.
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”.

I fall from the holy empire,an angel that loosing his path.
I am tormented with passion and fire, i am tormented with pride,greed and lust

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart,

I fall from the holy empire,an angel that loosing his path.
I am tormented with passion and fire, i am tormented with pride,greed and lust

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!