Wearing her wickedness to bed, Like a coat of deviance She slips another time into the mist.
The sun has fallen, drowned in the skyline, But now they are here; towering from lows to highs.
As the fireflies lit the heavens up, She escaped into the mist. She was bound by the edge of the world, Staring at the Pitch Black Lake.
Vaguely reminiscent of the sight the world provides. Cast upon an endless pilgrimage of self-reflection, But what this pool provides is dark beyond blackest night.
We were lead here not by the strife of another, but our own. But I'm almost certain that's why people travel to places. But in the deepest furnace of the soul, roots still remain of our homes. Do we cope with being lost rather than finding our way?
Wearing her wickedness to bed, Like a coat of deviance She slips another time into the mist.
You and I... We both know... Waxing, waning just like the tides. In denial.
As the fireflies lit the heavens up... She was bound by the edge of the world, Staring at the Pitch Black Lake.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
