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Ph-nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'leyh wgah'nagl fhtagn

'Niti ne treba misliti da je čovjek najstariji ili posljednji od gospodara Zemlje, ili da obični život i njegova tvar hode sami. Stari bijahu, Stari jesu i Stari će biti. Ne u prostorima koje mi znamo, već između njih. Oni hode, svečani i drevni, nedimenzionalni i za nas nevidljivi. Yog-Sothoth zna vrata. Yog-Sothoth je vrata. Yog-Sothoth je ključ i čuvar vrata. Prošlost, sadašnjost, budućnost, sve su jedno u Yog-Sothothu. On zna gdje su se Stari probili u davnini, i gdje će se Oni opet probiti. On zna gdje su Oni hodili poljima Zemlje, i gdje Oni još njima hode, i zašto Ih nitko ne može vidjeti dok hode. Po Njihovu mirisu može čovjek nekad znati da su Oni blizu, ali Njihova lika čovjek ne može spoznati, osim samo u crtama onih koje su Oni začeli čovječanstvu; a od tih ima mnogo vrsta, što se po obrazu razlikuju od čovječjeg vjernog eidolona do onog oblika nevidećeg i nestvarnog koji je Oni. Oni hode neviđeni i zli po onim samotnim mjestima gdje su Riječi izgovorene i Obredi urlani kroz njihova Razdoblja. Vjetar blebeće Njihovim glasovima, a zemlja mrmlja Njihovom svijesti. Oni iskrivljuju šumu i lome grad, ali ne može ni jedna šuma ili grad ugledati ruku koja udara. Kadath u hladnoj pustoši spoznao je Njih, a koji čovjek zna Kadath? Ledena pustinja Juga i potonuli otoci Oceana drže kamenove na kojima je otisnut Njihov pečat, ali tko je vidio duboki smrznuti grad ili visoku zapečaćenu kuluodavno iskićenu morskom travom i školjkama? Veliki Cthulhu je Njihov rod, a ipak on Njih može uoćiti tek mutno. Iäl Shub-Niggurath! Kao gadost ćete ih spoznati. Njihova je ruka na vašim grlima, a ipak vi Njih ne vidite; a Njihova nastamba jedno je s vašim čuvanim pragom. Yog-Sothoth je ključ vrata kroz koje se sfere sreću. Čovjek sad vlada tamo gdje su Oni jednom vladali; Oni će uskoro vladati gdje čovjek sad vlada. Nakon ljeta je zima, i nakon zime ljeto. Oni čekaju strpljivi i moćni, jer ovdje će Oni ponovo vladati.'

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Blacken

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door --
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -- vainly I had tried to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow -- sorrow for the lost Lenore --
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me -- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door --
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; --
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you " -- here I opened wide the door; ----
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" --
Merely this, and nothing more.
Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore --
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door --
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door --
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore --
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning -- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door --
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered -- not a feather then he fluttered --
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before --
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster so when Hope he would adjure --
Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure --
That sad answer, "Never -- nevermore."
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite -- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore;
Let me quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! -- prophet still, if bird or devil! --
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted --
On this home by Horror haunted -- tell me truly, I implore --
Is there -- is there balm in Gilead? -- tell me -- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil -- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us -- by that God we both adore --
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore --
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting --
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -- nevermore!

E.A.Poe

FOR ELAINE

She'll never know how much I love her oh it's to late now
She'll never know how deep my love is
It's to late now

For Elaine it's too late
It's too late now, her soul cannot be saved

She tasted white, oh white she loved the most
Is it to late now?
If I knew I would never let her go
But it's to late now

For Elaine it's too late
It's too late now, her soul cannot be saved

I brought her white roses, oh white she loved the most
Dropped them to her beneath her name
On her grave

For Elaine it's too late
It's too late now, her soul cannot be saved

Embrio