Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Looking Glass, artist - Hallows Eve. Album song Evil Never Dies, in the genre Date of issue: 31.12.2004
Record label: Metalhit.com, Xtreem
Song language: English
Looking Glass |
| I left my home far behind, waved good-bye to my routine |
| One dusky hour’s drive north |
| I rode in man’s machine |
| Someplace in north’s wood |
| I felt that I would find |
| «There lies your reputation |
| And an honest measure of your worth» |
| This I have sought in quest |
| Since my long gone birth |
| Battling with my beasties |
| Has brought me to a truth |
| The sweeter the tongue |
| The sharper the tooth |
| I stepped forth on the Mother |
| In my search for light |
| Forgotten church to my left |
| The mansion to my right |
| Light showed through the windows |
| Of the house that I have known |
| So I had made this my guest |
| The scars of dusk had blown |
| There’s a man who carries his dreams |
| In a bag slung over his shoulder |
| No word could you understand |
| His bundleis as life’s boulders |
| So he bags his regrets |
| Into a bundle of sorrow |
| And carries them in hope |
| The hope of tomorrow |
| I left my bag out of sight |
| And sat by candle-light |
| Then I saw an apparition |
| Much to my own fright |
| I saw a compound |
| Of all that is unclean |
| Abnormal, detestable |
| The worst that I have seen |
| The ghoulish shade of decay |
| Putrid and antique |
| Unwholesome revelation |
| All that is bleak |
| A travesty of human shape |
| Upon bones of mold |
| Clothing disintegrating |
| The stench of the old |
| I know what I am |
| I am what I am |
| I stared into the glassy orbs |
| Which stared back at me |
| Then I had found my peace |
| I had found the key |
| I reached to touch the carrion |
| And it reached from the mass |
| To reveal to my fingers |
| Cold polished glass! |
| We tipped our hats |
| Good-Eve to the other |
| Picked up our bags |
| Waved good-bye to our brother |
| We’ll find the speck |
| Of truth in each riddle |
| And a looking-glass |
| Stuck in the middle |
| Wise one is master of the mind |
| Fool will be it’s slave |
| Me, I’m in the middle |
| Only a mirror, only a riddle |
| Imagine the dark obscure poet |
| Gliding through his night |
| Pausing to stare in from the out |
| He would enter, but outside he is lord |
| Imagine the pure beyond holy and evil |
| Watching, trying every extreme |
| With the calm knowledge |
| That he is colour and dance and saying |
| «There is no Renaissance |
| Only the ancients creating different lights» |