Those shades do gorge the sickest strain, no shed of light to shine Till the lows of relegation, an intellect been muted From womb to death, from peaks opaque tis god, a god has been usurped, His image and his likeness served Yet gladly I succumb
Halving the craft of uncertainty Transparent at birth, and nurtured with stench this pitching supremacy, our gentle distortion These drops of sin - a flooding
This fraudulent squawk is repulsive This matter of right has turned into wrongs, The slump of our grace, related to His, The far-flawed perfection, beshadowed All falls of a kind are nigh, All earthly conditions predestined, For birth is a circle of malice
Those shades do gorge the sickest strain, no shed of light to shine Till the lows of relegation, an intellect been muted From womb to death, from peaks opaque tis god, a god has been usurped, His image and his likeness served Yet reluctantly I'm enthralled
Preserving the craft of devotion, The limits of man, (are) the thresholds of God
His image, his likeness be cast. Your wills and desires be served Inception of life now refined, This greatness is false, foolish I
The carnage is fore and beyond: "He who beareth the torture, graspeth the freedom that cometh with it"Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
