Crimson Requiem-Lenore (Lyrics adapted from "Lenore" by Edgar Allan Poe)

Описание: Symphonic gothic metal song inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s Lenore, Dark, funeral, tragic atmosphere evolving into transcendent triumph. Full symphonic orchestra (strings, brass, choir pads), grand piano, pipe organ, heavy distorted guitars, deep bass, cinematic drums.
Generated whit Suno.
Lyrics adapted from "Lenore" by Edgar Allan Poe

Broken is the golden bowl…
The spirit flown forevermore.

Let the bell toll, slow and cold,
A saint drifts on the Stygian shore.
Guy De Vere, hast thou no tear?
Weep now — or nevermore.

See her on the rigid bier,
Silent lies thy Lenore.
Once the light of mortal days,
Now the night they all adore.

Read the rite, let prayers be said,
Let the funeral song be sung,

For the queenliest soul of earth
That ever died so young.

Sing for her, the doubly dead,
Dead in body, dead in name,
Taken pure, yet torn apart
By envy, spite, and blame.

Sing for her, the lost Lenore,
Too divine for mortal breath,

Loved too much, condemned too fast,
Crowned by death.

Wretches! You loved her for her gold,
You hated her for pride,
And when her fragile body failed,
You blessed the day she died.

How shall the requiem be sung
By lips so stained with lies?
Your evil eye, your slandered tongue
That killed her soul alive.

How dare your anthem rise to Heaven
From hands that struck her down?

You stole her life before her death,
You tore away her crown.

Sing for her, the doubly dead,
Dead in body, dead in name,
Taken pure, yet torn apart
By envy, spite, and blame.

Sing for her, the lost Lenore,
Crowned by death.

Peccavimus… yet rage no more.
Let Sabbath hymns ascend.
She hath gone before with Hope
Where grief and guilt must end.

The life still rests upon her hair,
But not within her eyes.
The light remains — the soul has fled
Beyond these mortal skies.

Avaunt! Avaunt! From fiends below
Her radiant ghost is torn!

From grief and groan to golden throne,
Beside Heaven’s King reborn!

Let no bell toll for Lenore now,
Lest Heaven hear Earth’s cry,

Her soul in hallowed mirth might turn
To sorrow drifting by.

No dirge tonight — my heart is light,
No tears, no mournful days,

We send her forth on angel wings
With a paean of old days.

Broken is the golden bowl…
Yet Heaven holds her whole.