Текст песни Lamia Morra - Колот

The moon will take me back
Into your icy palaces
And I, immersed in my personal hell,
I will no longer remember God.
Carmine whirlwinds of Your hair
They hobble a sick soul with nets,
And you grew among the frozen drops
Sit down and listen to my songs in anguish.

By late prayer they will rise to the zenith
My words that you are so familiar
That silence rings in me
That I'm falling into a coma again
That my wings are sharp
And there is no outcome of unknown pain.
In the distant hills I burn fires
My beacons to you, captivity ...

Guitar strings cut frets
To the veins that sing in wooden skin
The fog that has turned gray in timelessness,
Will cover my bed of ice
And I will shatter my dreams
Cutting your hands on sharp edges.
Let the laughter of my witch moon
The anti-dust will wrap my stone.

Over the echo of the rain, the clatter of hooves is heard.
Look, autumn comes on the black mare.
And the snake hiss sweetly in his chest,
And he twists rings, and asks for blood.
Poison oozes from my eye sockets.
The ground under your feet is smoking.
There won't be enough shroud for everyone, my friend.
And all I have to do is crash.

Break into blood, laughing at yourself,
Clutching an unnecessary soul in my hand.
I’m waiting for your Prince to come to me
Listen to my poems.
But no ... Doesn't go, no sound will be born
In the night that I took you with me.
I am dying without Your hands ...
I'm not waiting for death ... You are waiting for peace ...