Birds with torn wings are the humans.. Flying too low and crashing down.. Chanters of autumns.. Callers of long winters.. Dismembering the wings.. Trying to wash away the blood.. That tainted our ancient flesh.. A dawn without sun.. A winter without coldness.. I raise my eyes to the skies And whisper "......my july" The heavens answer me And rain blood over me The color of night becomes crimson And no grief on my wings Sing from the tower of souls And watch my spirit free A shroud of winter appeared ..... i saw her eyes