Text:
Opeth The Roundhouse Tapes

: By the turnstile beckons a damsel fair The face of Melinda neath blackened hair No joy would flicker in her eyes Brooding sadness came to a rise Words

: Blank face in the windowpane Made clear in seconds of light Disappears and returns again Counting hours, searching the night Might be waiting for someone

: Confessor Of the tragedies in man Lurking in the core of us all The last dying call for the everlost Brief encounters, bleeding pain Lepers coiled

: Once again I've cried Unto the moon That burning flame That has guided me Through all these years The lake from which you flow With eyes of fire Once

: Beating Heart still beating for the cause Feeding Soul still feeding from the loss Aching Limbs are aching from the rush Fading You are fading from

Ghost of Mother Lingering death Ghost on Mother's Bed Black strands on the pillow Contour of her health Twisted face upon the head Ghost of perdition

Once again I've cried Unto the moon That burning flame That has guided me Through all these years The lake from which you flow With eyes of fire Once

Blank face in the windowpane Made clear in seconds of light Disappears and returns again Counting hours, searching the night Might be waiting for someone

By the turnstile beckons a damsel fair The face of Melinda neath blackened hair No joy would flicker in her eyes Brooding sadness came to a rise Words