✕
Chapter Seven of the Night
In an alley in 1983
On a clear December night
Chapter Seven of the Night
The pushing of the typewriter
Moves closer to the truth with every line
Smoke from the briar pipe
Drifts toward withered trees
Silently lamenting to me
At the circle by Baker Street
A fleur-de-lis gleams
On the arm of the armored knight
The sounds of empty carriages
Late night calls
Evil under Victorian moonlight
A bloodstained opening act
A vanished pistol
A cane scorched black
A melted wax doll
Who has an alibi?
The illusion in the symbols on the treasure chest
Contradictions lead to the dead end he constructed
The evidence was buried perfectly
A smirk mocking Scotland Yard rose to his lips
If evil is a glorious, ruthless movement
(Then justice hides its helpless melancholy)
I will write its final act myself
(Then I'll light the embers glowing in the ashes)
The last line of sorrow air-dries in the morning light
(Then raindrops will wash the high walls clean of darkness)
Ink dyes serenity black
(Stage lights dim, the red curtain falls)
The truth can only lead
To soil with no footprints
A striking floral fragrance
Deliberately conspicuous clothing
Everyone hides for different reasons
Behind a mask of lies
And there is only one motive
Its name is desire
Who can cross the swamp of human nature
And truly stay unsoiled?
We can forget and forgive
But the truth must be known
The iron bed was moved
The last puzzle piece clicks into place
I hear footsteps
The soft leather heels I anticipated
He pushes the door open
The oil lamp flickers in the night wind
The typewriter stops at the killer’s name
I turn around
The night sky over Westminster Abbey begins to simmer
At his chest bloomed beautiful death
I savour the last bite of sweet truth
Smile and recall that justice is just an extension of quiet
The violin is in the Thames
If evil is a glorious, ruthless movement
(Footsteps, the soft leather heels I anticipated)
(He pushes the door open)
(The oil lamp flickers in the night wind)
I will write its final act myself
(The typewriter stops at the killer's name)
(I turn around)
(The night sky over Westminster Abbey begins to simmer)
Ink dyes serenity black
If evil is a glorious, ruthless movement
I will write its final act myself
The last line of sorrow air-dries in the morning light
Ink dyes serenity black
osmanth✕
Comments
Russia is waging a disgraceful war on Ukraine. Stand With Ukraine!
About translator
Line breaks have been adjusted from the source lyrics where some sentences were (perhaps erroneously) broken up across verses.