1. At Wit’s End

Lyrics and music by Tom Ott. Arranged by EMPERDIA

Autumn: Tale I


It was a cold October evening

Days of rain have yet to stop

A towering monolith of ivory

The man stood atop


Valour and honour have left the land

What remains tugged at his heartstrings

With all virtue and common sense

Ceased all songs Minerva sings

Tarred, feathered, scorned, ostracized

From all civilisation

Evil is as evil does

And so was his intention

The ghosts of present, future and past

Run a marathon with human life

With his dreary company

Left no choice but to venture outside

Sight blurs through a crimson hue

Visions writhe, only one thing left to do


As they haunt

Splatter grey and black

Through time and all things betwixt

The great bog awaits

A wizard’s hut

To banish and silence the spirits

In the midst of the darkness

Beyond fauna and cobblestone

Man’s oldest dream

Quiet epitome on an oaken throne

Plunged into despair

Longing for retribution

His mind courts atrocities

One does not dare to mention


Love truly is a peculiar thing

One time it saves, then taints all immaculacies within

As its funeral is held on a sombre, rainy day

No birds will come, not even vultures seeking prey

The hand that feeds was gnawed to the bone

Society has lost its worth, he roams alone

The art of loss can be wisdom or a mistake

And when thought righteous, all can turn towards hate

Yet the leaves fall


He returned from the shack

Eyes as red as some scarlet bud

Now it’s time to pay the price

For the potion has done its part

Smothered thoughts align

To the greater good, his mind surrenders

The flame of lust is no more

Cause what time ignites will burn to a cinder

Mucus from the mouth

Blood drips from his hands

As he finally found his peace

He did as the spirits command

Loud gusts, glowing shadows

Back towards the sun, slouching to the moor

Surge of clarity through skin and marrow

Indeed, when it rains it pours

Yet the leaves fall

Silent and prudently cloaked

Death drags him to his abode


Who lives by the sword

Shall likewise die

A hero’s deed could not be harder to see

Ghost shall tempt

Bring history’s end

And alter the legacy one leaves


In the midst of the darkness

Fever can singe both wool and stone

Endless it seems

One can only reap what was sown

The truth can be cruel

Silence unnerving

The mirrors lie shattered here

The glass is lacerating

And the leaves fall


A brisk wind whistles a mellow tune

Sings of all that the night has eschewed

Soon the wailing lulls the spawns of spring

Crippling deviants, murdering all evil that dwelt within