A song by Seraphino Aurelius Belladonna
Quarter To
A gothic procession through clocks, rust, grief, and the quiet mathematics by which every life approaches its hour.
- From the album
- As It Ought to Be
- Album sequence
- Track 12 of 14
- First released
- Running time
- 5:58
The matter at hand
What the song concerns
Time in ‘Quarter To’ is not an abstract measure but a presence heard approaching. The nearly struck hour gathers images of decay, inheritance, mourning, and inevitability into a slow ceremonial march.
Rather than offering escape, the song finds dignity in attention. Crowns, monuments, and certainty all fail before time; what remains meaningful is the manner in which one stands while the final interval closes.
In his own estimation
Seraphino, upon its composition
The final quarter hour is a peculiar territory. Nothing hath ended, yet every sound acquires the character of farewell. A clock need not threaten. It need only continue, and all our monuments begin quietly negotiating with dust.
I gave the piece the pace of a procession because mortality should not be hurried for theatrical convenience. Let each step sound. Let the rust have time to flower. No crown surviveth the years, but a soul may yet meet the hour without pretending it hath not heard the bell.
“No crown survives the years.”
The complete text
Lyrics
Black banners sway in haunted wind
Above the fields where we have sinned
The crows do feast where kings were laid
Their glory turned to shade
The river crawls beneath the stone
Like whispered prayers for flesh and bone
Each mournful bell that breaks the night
Bears one more soul from sight
March slow, ye weary souls
Through ash and falling rain
The earth shall claim our mortal names
Yet sorrow shall remain
Walk on beneath the iron sky
Where silent spirits roam
For every road that mortals tread
Doth lead the wanderer home
Cold armor sleeps beside the gate
A rusted hymn to pride and fate
The widows raise their mournful song
For those forever gone
Within the chapel's fading light
A child beseeches Heaven's sight
Why must the righteous leave so soon
Beneath the silent moon
March on, ye weary souls
Though hope grows faint and thin
The bells that mourn the dead today
Shall mourn the next of kin
Walk on beneath the iron sky
Where every shadow waits
No king may bar the coming night
Nor fasten shut its gates
No blade escapes the teeth of rust
No crown survives the years
The mountains watch in silence still
Unmoved by mortal tears
March slow, ye weary souls
Lay down thy grief at last
The earth remembers every step
Though all our days have passed
Walk on beneath the iron sky
Till every flame grows dim
And when the final candle dies
Let Heaven sing the hymn
When final winter grips the earth
And silence claims the air
May one lone voice recall our names
And find us waiting there
Further evidence