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Theatre of Tragedy
« Cassandra »
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| 01 | Cassandra (Cheap Wine Edit)
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| | 02 | Aoede (Edit)
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| | 03 | Cassandra (Album Version) |
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Raymond J. Rohonyi - vocals
Liv Kristine Espenaes - vocals
Frank Claussen - guitars
Tommy Olsson - guitars
Lorentz Aspen - keyboards
Eirik T. Saltro - bass
Hein Frode Hansen - drums |
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| 01.Cassandra
He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return -
She hath no life but the one he for her wrought;
Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down,
Riposted with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn.
Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell  |
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Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Seer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.
Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? -
A mistress fuell'd by his prest haughtiness -
If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee,
Belike egal as it to him might be?!
Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Seer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.
'Or was he an aeried being,
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
Her naysay' raught his heart,
Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
She belied her own words,
He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge,
She held him august, yet wee;
He left her ne'er without his heart.
02.Aoede
Parch'd of words, parch'd of lauds,
Lorn and tyned fro my wame -
'Seech I more perforce indeed:
Lap I of thee: Thou art want.
With dulcet gust thine floret,
Which I yet would not do -
Pray I thee for thine avail -
Lave me in it; I want more!
For my loe, not be adust.
Come see as the wind: Chant -
I let thee come in -
Come see as the wind, Aoede.
As of lote - upon thee dote,
Lowing 'tis, true forsooth,
Tisn't a tongue, nay merely mote,
Thou art grandly mae than couth':
Eft and e'er doth it eke -
I am what I do behold.
For my loe, not be adust.
Come see as the wind: Chant -
I let thee come in -
Come see as the wind, Aoede.
03.Cassandra
He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return -
She hath no life but the one he for her wrought;
Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down,
Riposted with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn.
Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Seer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.
Still, is she lief and quaint in his eyne, a sight divine? -
A mistress fuell'd by his prest haughtiness -
If he did grant, wherefore then did he not foresee,
Belike egal as it to him might be?!
Prophetess or fond?,
Tho' her parle of truth:
«I ken to-morrow - refell me if ye can!»,
Yet the kiss and breath - Apollo's bane -
Seer of the future, not of twain,
«Sicker!», quoth Cassandra.
'Or was he an aeried being,
'Or was he weening - alack nay mo;
Her naysay' raught his heart,
Her daffing was the grave of all hope -
She belied her own words,
He thought her life, save moreo'er scourge,
She held him august, yet wee;
He left her ne'er without his heart.