Interpret:

My Dying Bride

Album:

Turn Loose The Swans

So little of what we observe, is the girl 
herself. Elaborate, scented coiffers. Adieu 
d'amour. Vast is the heirs ballroom. Let the 
rich give you presents. Heaven pours from 
her throat, as she sings and as she dances. 
The fumes of rich swine, honeyglazed and 
dripping, playing in the air. My mouth eager 
and wishing. But I return to this 
nightingale. Her hair all fiery red. Deep it is 
and wild. my weakness will be fed. Boys 
whipped on the alter of diana, sometimes 
until they died. The cunning wily 
merchant, and his four crippled horses. Tales 
told in warlike manner. The storyteller by 
the fire . While musing deeply on this sight, 
the songster stirred my desire. You are 
sweet and fine to listen to. Long tresses 
about her neck. Yet much is false. This 
mighty evening, I've seen no face. This is 
crushing me. My quill it aches. Turn loose 
the swans that drew my poets craft. I'll 
dwell in desolate cities. You burned my 
wings. I leave this ode, splendid victorious 
through the carnage. I wanted to touch 
them all. I wanted to touch them all.