Painters of the tempest (part ii): triptych lux

Come forth dark herald
Bringer of light
Bourne by the burning swans
And his plague breath
Creator

Of the dream coil, a halo aloft as hands entwine
Painters of the tempest, with their red hands
The world their canvas
Through the mist of the stormglass
And bruegel dreamt the angels above
As bosch danced in earthly delight

Angels fall
Into the canvas
Reaching for the light
Heaven is empty
And all the beauty is here
Upon this bone palette
The sway of nine-tails
Layered lashings of euphoria and chaos
Triptychs unfold like wings
As the arms of our fathers
Bear the weight of what they've done
Anti-matter-martyrs

Warmth of life
Where they sing of fire
Children's eyes, for they all shine
As tears rise, oceans of flame billow
When all dreams lose hope
And bruegel wept for the fading sun
Where have all the angels gone?

Angels fall
Into the canvas
Reaching for the light
Heaven is empty
As hell below
And hell below
Painted by ghosts

Lords of lifeless eyes
In this garden of wilted flowers
Vultures spake the mother tongue
Hear the children
Breathless sleep
Where they dream a new day
Echoing
Oh when they dream
Ebb and flow, free falling
Beautiful and calm

And fragile, and whole
Where they dream a new day
Through the coil they course and carousel
Echoes
Hear the lost children
Hear the children sing
Through the coil they carousel
Within this stained glass womb
They sing with open minds
Within this stained glass womb
They see with open minds
The event horizon and beyond

A wasteland and so barren, haunted by a sea of pale faces
The city of lost children, raising their death-shrouded flags
Can you hear the redrum pounding?
The heartbeat of many as one
Curator, father, what have we become?
Radiance, blinding horizon

The brilliant sunrise
Their horizons, where they seize this life
Our children
Painters, they are
They are, the change
Painters