Amorphis-Circle-Dead Man's Dream(lyrics)

So yeah, hi, I’m Rune and today my favourite word is cadaverous. It’s great and hollow and full of itself and feels like empty eye sockets and rib cages. It is also latinate and elegant. And it’s blue and brown, because adjectives have colours.

:D

I saw this and thought of you. The typos, however, are regrettable. 

As if he had been poured in tar, he lies on a pillow of turf and seems to weep the black river of himself. The grain of his wrists is like bog oak, the ball of his heel like a basalt egg. His instep has shrunk cold as a swan's foot or a wet swamp root. His hips are the ridge and purse of a mussel, his spine an eel arrested under a glisten of mud. The head lifts, the chin is a visor raised above the vent of his slashed throat that has tanned and toughened. The cured wound opens inwards to a dark elderberry place. Who will say 'corpse' to his vivid cast? Who will say 'body' to his opaque repose? And his rusted hair, a mat unlikely as a foetus's. I first saw his twisted face in a photograph, a head and shoulder out of the peat, bruised like a forceps baby, but now he lies perfected in my memory, down to the red horn of his nails, hung in the scales with beauty and atrocity: with the Dying Gaul too strictly compassed on his shield, with the actual weight of each hooded victim, slashed and dumped.

It’s like, you tell them the things exist and they suddenly start seeing them everywhere. Here’s a hint, dead people cannot hold themselves upright unaided, and living people are capable of dour facial expressions.

While we’re on the subject of Stolen Away to Faerie, here, have the ultimate Barrow Freyr song.