| He’s standing alone at the edge of that night
|
| Surrounded by blaze lights
|
| Staring the murk, distant and dense
|
| Where stories are yet to be told
|
| At the back of a fable they ride towards crimson winds
|
| That blow away
|
| Ghosts on the horizons of a story soon to begin
|
| On the altar of oracles runes are disposed
|
| Telling faiths and aftermaths
|
| On a crescent-shaped moon in the dark of the woods
|
| Magic
|
| As the lord of a castle in black, he beholds
|
| The abyss and the river below
|
| The glow at the end, a shine in the night
|
| An angel with death cold eyes
|
| At the back of a fable they ride towards crimson winds
|
| That blow away
|
| Martyrs predestined to see their lights ripped apart
|
| On the altar of oracles runes are disposed
|
| Telling faiths and aftermaths
|
| On a crescent-shaped moon in the dark of the woods
|
| Magic
|
| For the trail of tears forged by the seer
|
| Bare, unrighteous brilliancy
|
| Oh the moon, witness of revenant fallacies
|
| «…Angel come to me…»
|
| On the altar of oracles runes are disposed
|
| Telling faiths and aftermaths
|
| On a crescent-shaped moon in the dark of the woods
|
| Magic
|
| For the trail of tears forged by the seer
|
| Bare, unrighteous brilliancy
|
| Oh the moon, witness of revenant fallacies
|
| «…Angel come to me…» |