In the churchyard where he lay Lights a moonbeam on his face No words spoken in the dark Aging widow knits and rocks
Seeping from a wet cold sun Spoons are bending one by one Graves forgotten far too soon Names are washed into the ruin
Six of them Perched upon the tower Waiting for Bells of every hour Ringing for One thousand years Watching as The coffins disappear
All ways lead to the same room
Galleries of the dead Awaiting ahead With all doors open
Through underground tunnels His hands holding his head Erasing footsteps
Drying all the holy water Using just its fingertips Shining there in a pitch black church Rose of the apocalypse
In the courtyard Waits the hearse Adorning the ancestral curse Thirty-seven signs of death The one who sleeps won't be at restTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
