We continue onward because of your love and promise to bask eternally in the meadows. The glimmer of gold from your hair shields me from crimson red masking my eyes. No longer am I misplaced, or forgotten in the sullen tomb. When my time comes and I have nothing left to give, when the torch dims and the fire no longer lives, I will listen to the winds. The beating of the earth, the sound of the rider of war comes to my aid to come take me away. Deep in a meditative phase, in a circle of amber and falcon feathers I am overcome by celestial beings that speak in whispers. A brush of vulgaris remind me that I am a child sworn to the soil of heathen man. Skin of porcelain, drip with blood from corpses of holy men. The pagan forest speaks of lore. Seasonal rain comes again like it does, and time will go on as it was. The ritual knife has been cleansed. We wish to purify all that has been defiled so that we may begin again.

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