Where torture hit soil, a forest now stands and therein lies a famished sect of man “Devoid of the will to conquer despair we fall to lethargy in the silence of cold airs When fear descends...none defend” Fevered spine Imperial Crooked posture marks our days Courage has been denied structure It dangles from the bones Blowing in the wind Strings of black flesh Hanging off a skeleton of disappointment
Dreams of no light Landscape under the color code Dreams of no light Many graves but one name
Ghost gasping brings an endless noise A vacuum sound-source from brittle jaw Its astoundment of itself As it crystallizes in decay
Torture hit soil The forest rang for days With the call, the call The bitter search this wayTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
