This night, the children of comfortable ignorance Sleep softly in beds of the silently slain
The lapping of those ancient tongues Upon ankles of the younger ones Reaching up like the fires in the skies
The weight of the world is too much for even itself What might rise from the ashes of a cave-in?
Great mass form like that on a holy day Great mass more like that of a cancer in the land Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |