Dirge For November — текст песни (Opeth)

Lost, here is nowhere
Searching home still
Turning past me, all are gone
Time is now
The omen showed, took me away
Preparations are done, this can`t last
The mere reflection brought disgust
No ordeal to conquer, this firm slit
It sheds upon the floor, dripping into a pool
Grant me sleep, take me under
Like the wings of a dove, folding around
I fade into this tender care