Never I will seemy beloved shores again,enlightened by bright beamsof descending dead devotion.Never I will hear the cry of fairies' daughters,dancing while moon collapsesover sharpened fragments of an ancient past.Crawling whispers of rotten feelingsare now going down on forgotten eyes,and upon vermillion lipsmy decayed thoughts are flowing with pleasure.Never I will feelmy fellows moving slowlyaround my drained consciousnessremembering touching melodiesand days passed by in my inner deception.Never I will listen tothe wind blowing smoothly among childhood's meadows,mourning for the lost youth of a thousand stolen lives.Now I clearly see gloomy memoriesof loveless souls,emotionally starving with unbearable anguish,slowly streamingon plain obsession.While breath runs awayon a path made of marble lies,sing my sorrow, sister...While tears die,drying deeply the spirit like burning drops of despairsing my sorrow, brother...Sing for meand for my open wounds,Sing for meand for my dead womb,for his unborn Pride.My lost motherland is calling loudlywhile a cold embracelets me know I will never come back.A.E. - 27.03.2008Quando lo capirā la gente che essere normali non č un pregio?
Albion
Never I will seemy beloved shores again,enlightened by bright beamsof descending dead devotion.Never I will hear the cry of fairies' daughters,dancing while moon collapsesover sharpened fragments of an ancient past.Crawling whispers of rotten feelingsare now going down on forgotten eyes,and upon vermillion lipsmy decayed thoughts are flowing with pleasure.Never I will feelmy fellows moving slowlyaround my drained consciousnessremembering touching melodiesand days passed by in my inner deception.Never I will listen tothe wind blowing smoothly among childhood's meadows,mourning for the lost youth of a thousand stolen lives.Now I clearly see gloomy memoriesof loveless souls,emotionally starving with unbearable anguish,slowly streamingon plain obsession.While breath runs awayon a path made of marble lies,sing my sorrow, sister...While tears die,drying deeply the spirit like burning drops of despairsing my sorrow, brother...Sing for meand for my open wounds,Sing for meand for my dead womb,for his unborn Pride.My lost motherland is calling loudlywhile a cold embracelets me know I will never come back.A.E. - 27.03.2008Quando lo capirā la gente che essere normali non č un pregio?
