You call me but I can't hear you.
I'm leaving for a place where the dead wind brings red milk.
Angels face greens of lonliness.
Sculptors blow a megadeath.
In an angel's world we will stone our excuse,
While desire hurts the muse.
Angony wishes the ends;
Enemy takes out the scents
Symphony gathers the bents;
Irony pulls out from my veins
Heaven of my sighs will shine a war of dizziness;
Gestures of my demand will be dead in happiness;
I believe in an elusive half darkness;
Now I justify my strength and willingness in death.
I take cries from my craziness;
And I burn the grooms of my happiness;
Ivory bells flow wine from mystic sensations;
We will gild the end of passions.
Slayers are fantasy's games
Crossing in my blood with jokes
And die in my eyes.
