Orchid. (IV) "The Opeth Diaries."

When the leaves begin to fade,
And Wind starts to scream…
A voice of obscurity,
Whispers through the green.
Past the dark waters,
Through the still trees,
It creeps like a martyr,
Down into his dreams.

Seed of damnation…
Seed of domain…
Lodges deep in the crevice of his brain.
Spirit of deliverance…
Spirit of Medeia…
Relinquishes his soul with un-quenching fire.
No longer does he envision,
Those gold crusted gates…
But the toughness of obsidian,
Laying sulfur to waste.
There are no hymns…
There is no singing…
Only infinite black,
And lamentations of many.
Something sinks heavy,
Around his blind gaze.
There are countless blurred creatures,
Reaching up to the haze.

Their screams are unbearable,
Riddled with woe.
There is nowhere to run to…
Nowhere to go.
He feels the same suffering,
The forever dements.
He shares the like sorrow…
The immense lament.
He cries out to the Father,
Unanswered with shrills.
“Can it stop?!? Can it end?!?”
“This sadness I feel?”
Like a subsiding stroke,
His riling is over,
And the disciple awakes…
To the Forest of October.