Song parody of
Temple
by Wolf Kroeger
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Deep green walls lined with Darjeeling Gold
And red carpets flow through dimly lit corridors
Like a river of blood, feeding an ancient forest
While its canopy dances to the fury of lightning
For there stands the stronghold of one man
Grown out of immaculate stone
A colossus tearing at his chains
His feet, never escaping the dirt from which he had spawn
The ruler of this lore had risen from the deepest pit
A hole that devoured even the purest ray of light
Down in this abyss, he forgot of the sun
Only hearing the faint aviary agitations of dawn
Echoing through impassive tunnels
He incessantly pounded the coal clothed rocks
As a sculptor chisels a block of marble in search of a forsaken goddess
His hands always smelt of burnt iron
And the glimmer in his eyes resembled
Two white isles in an ocean of darkness
Two white flames fueled by a vision
In which the prize sought would illuminate the crooked galleries of his own heart
One sacred night, his battered pickaxe struck the vein and bestowed glory onto him
Judging himself worthy of the light, he crawled out towards the moonglow
Nearing the opening, he passed his ghost staring back into the void
Just as he had done on the day of his arrival
A testament to the soul which had been consumed by these hellish bowels
A beacon which he did not grasp
He erected a shrine in honor of his achievement
To impress his prowess onto others and himself
But when the twilight winds embraced the castle walls
Their chant was gelid and hollow
Many a time the ochre colors of summer fields climbed into the trees
And now he sits awaiting death
In a temple which ineptly atones for the gash he dug into the bark of the earth
Cradled by the putrefied flesh of a deceitful Venus
He withers in memories of the true wilderness
Which had run strong in his chest
The one true love he lost
Eclipsed by the shadows of his pursuits
As he walked across a valley of primeval pillars
Supporting nothing but thin air
Deep green walls lined with Darjeeling Gold
And red carpets flow through dimly lit corridors
Like a river of blood, feeding an ancient forest
While its canopy dances to the fury of lightning
For there stands the stronghold of one man
Grown out of immaculate stone
A colossus tearing at his chains
His feet, never escaping the dirt from which he had spawn
The ruler of this lore had risen from the deepest pit
A hole that devoured even the purest ray of light
Down in this abyss, he forgot of the sun
Only hearing the faint aviary agitations of dawn
Echoing through impassive tunnels
He incessantly pounded the coal clothed rocks
As a sculptor chisels a block of marble in search of a forsaken goddess
His hands always smelt of burnt iron
And the glimmer in his eyes resembled
Two white isles in an ocean of darkness
Two white flames fueled by a vision
In which the prize sought would illuminate the crooked galleries of his own heart
One sacred night, his battered pickaxe struck the vein and bestowed glory onto him
Judging himself worthy of the light, he crawled out towards the moonglow
Nearing the opening, he passed his ghost staring back into the void
Just as he had done on the day of his arrival
A testament to the soul which had been consumed by these hellish bowels
A beacon which he did not grasp
He erected a shrine in honor of his achievement
To impress his prowess onto others and himself
But when the twilight winds embraced the castle walls
Their chant was gelid and hollow
Many a time the ochre colors of summer fields climbed into the trees
And now he sits awaiting death
In a temple which ineptly atones for the gash he dug into the bark of the earth
Cradled by the putrefied flesh of a deceitful Venus
He withers in memories of the true wilderness
Which had run strong in his chest
The one true love he lost
Eclipsed by the shadows of his pursuits
As he walked across a valley of primeval pillars
Supporting nothing but thin air
