I lovèd Theotormon,
And I was not ashamèd;
I trembled in my virgin fears
And I hid in Leutha"s vale!
I pluckèd Leutha"s flower,
And I rose up from the vale;
But the terrible thunders tore
My virgin mantle in twain.
With thine hand, wrench forth with force, and pull my flowers. By virtue of Leutha, let desire be hers- unencumbered. A woman, bare, her soul as just. Laid forth, strong, vulnerable. She lays vulnerable. With love...
Bromion rent her with his thunders; on his stormy bed lay the faint maid, and her woes appall"d his thunders h***se.
Just as l*** wears itself thin, grief and disgust emerge. Such as this fair maiden is, She remains pure no more.
The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs.
At the edge of the cave sits a man, all alone by his own accord. he weeps.
Theotormon sits on his self-righteous throne, looking down on the woman that he once called Oothoon, refusing her help, ignoring her cries, compiling his own.
She tries to call out, but her voice becomes mute she turns to her love, but is met frigidly. His grief becomes hers, and hers voided be. Repent.
She prays to her god at the foot of her love 'forgive what i"ve done, forgive what"s become of my chaste, and send forth your justice to purge all of my sins.'
'I call with holy voice! Kings of the sounding air, Rend away this defilèd bosom so that I may reflect.'
And the eagles prey upon her flesh; rending forth.
His smiles of approval in himself, not for me
my sighs, my pleas, trapped by my s**uality. From birth until death, we creatures young and old desire to be free as nature intended it be.
Why does he weep? if not for me?
The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs
Why do I weep? if not for me?
The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs
And I was not ashamèd;
I trembled in my virgin fears
And I hid in Leutha"s vale!
I pluckèd Leutha"s flower,
And I rose up from the vale;
But the terrible thunders tore
My virgin mantle in twain.
With thine hand, wrench forth with force, and pull my flowers. By virtue of Leutha, let desire be hers- unencumbered. A woman, bare, her soul as just. Laid forth, strong, vulnerable. She lays vulnerable. With love...
Bromion rent her with his thunders; on his stormy bed lay the faint maid, and her woes appall"d his thunders h***se.
Just as l*** wears itself thin, grief and disgust emerge. Such as this fair maiden is, She remains pure no more.
The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs.
At the edge of the cave sits a man, all alone by his own accord. he weeps.
Theotormon sits on his self-righteous throne, looking down on the woman that he once called Oothoon, refusing her help, ignoring her cries, compiling his own.
She tries to call out, but her voice becomes mute she turns to her love, but is met frigidly. His grief becomes hers, and hers voided be. Repent.
She prays to her god at the foot of her love 'forgive what i"ve done, forgive what"s become of my chaste, and send forth your justice to purge all of my sins.'
'I call with holy voice! Kings of the sounding air, Rend away this defilèd bosom so that I may reflect.'
And the eagles prey upon her flesh; rending forth.
His smiles of approval in himself, not for me
my sighs, my pleas, trapped by my s**uality. From birth until death, we creatures young and old desire to be free as nature intended it be.
Why does he weep? if not for me?
The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs
Why do I weep? if not for me?
The daughters of Albion hear her woes and echo back her sighs