name so often On the chiselled vault. But my writing hands are the roots of my misery. Now everything stands still In the wake of the Angel...
name so often On the chiselled vault. But my writing hands are the roots of my misery. Now everything stands still in the wake of the Angel...
the end Like machines of hate we breed death Again I flee from my realm The silent screams that I scream The pain is piercing my skin How can I wake
