| Who heard the nightwind’s whispers
|
| Maladies to come that it once sang
|
| Who saw the storms approaching
|
| And the shadows hiding in the Sun
|
| (rivers of life — now streaming red
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| swarming flies — reeking of death)
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| The breeze bears a familiar aroma
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| The blood runs thick before my weary eyes
|
| And in this maelstrom of denial
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| The dying screams of men have become our lullabies
|
| (lidless eyes — dreamless sleep
|
| open wounds — far too deep)
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| This is our world, this is our Hell
|
| Thi is the soil upon we fell
|
| Behold the truth as it unfolds…
|
| Way passed the point of its demise
|
| This world is only bleeding flies
|
| No one will come to claim your soul…
|
| Who heard the nightwind’s whispers
|
| The bleak requiems that it once sang
|
| Who saw our shadows submerging
|
| Before this age of dark had even begun
|
| …did no one?
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| «No one heard the serpent singing
|
| No one felt its teeth sank deeper
|
| No one saw our reflections transforming
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| into the pale traits of the reaper»
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| No solace for our lamentations
|
| No warmth from lacerated suns
|
| Music for abominations
|
| Only resounds in our world undone
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| A grave new world, a grave new life
|
| With ravaged dreams of paradise
|
| No more sights left to behold…
|
| Surpassed the point of its demise
|
| This world is only bleeding flies
|
| No one will come to claim your soul… |