How would you measure ruin? How would you assess fall? How would you separate sins when all bear the same mark? This sacred desert is quiet. Lost hopes flicker in the sand. Only roamed by fiends who seek to corrupt pneuma and prey on sarx. Grey prince is crowned. Soul aberration. Un-person, un-einheit. Idle zero. With golden nails it cuts through cold flesh, to assemble a face of its own. Cracked shards of forgotten dreams to substitute the rift of its own. The eternal fire runs high and vast upon bones of the righteous. As brethren rise as brethren fall, it is hard to miss that it is crowded in lowest pits of despair. To lose all and regret none.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
