The books unfold their bloody pages. The doors of oak have fell a veil of darkness, in front the eyes, that sparkled with a wild madness. Here stood the monoliths black - crimson, sullen creatures. Their blink was burning. Swears of death were raging. Thus the homesickness began. "Oh, sister of mine, my Melancholy sweet, come wake me up!" The flowers buds - these children of the moaning, Their voices ran under the sounds of stars. A spider webs has covered the Moon. So thrice she came into the lonely church But no one is there to wait for her. The colors slightly came to one. The light turned into somberness. The tragedy predicted the beauty of the night. And then bestowed it on a throne of violet hearts. The flowers buds - these children of the moaning Their voices ran under the sounds of stars.

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.