Letras
The sun never sets on the perfect
The wood never rots in the light
We weave the silk to hide the wound
We dance to drown out the scream
High Perfect Morcant, adjusts her crown
Where golden antlers, meet the sky
She looks upon, the velvet moss
And marks the spot, where weeds must die
Behold the beauty, feel the cold
A crown of emerald, a heart of stone
The Gilt-Leaf path is, paved in gold
To mask the rot, beneath the throne
Behold the beauty, feel the cold
A blemish on the petal's edge
Is treason in the Perfect's eye
The hunting horn begins to wail
As eyeblights learn it's time to die
We do not speak of jagged thorns
Or shadows where the bog-lights dwell
We only sing of silver streams
And cast the world in a floral spell
Behold the beauty, feel the cold
A crown of emerald, a heart of stone
The Gilt-Leaf path is, paved in gold
To mask the rot, beneath the throne
Behold the beauty, feel the cold
Feel the cold
The vile blight starts to pulse
The sun begins to lose its glow
But Morcant smiles with porcelain teeth
Sharpening blades for the coming show
The mask is slipping
The perfection is sharp
Don't look behind the veil
Don't look