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03 - The Elysian Fields - Rapture And The Mourning Virtue | Текст песни

And the flower...to poison grey
The beggars winter, the almighty's reign

A drama in silver
Drawn in bitter ducks
Clouds drift across the end
One's own flesh and blood

Ravished, oh melancholy
The icon, a greedy touch
And the moon...the blood divine
The arms, they dream, I scorn

Shall cynic be always
The dread of all the incensed
Horrent...as the intrepid falls
The last, forever, throne

Seconds of the past
Solitary cries
Wandering
The crestfallen invoked
The envy carved in stone
Immense eversince

Rapture and the mourning virtue

And the flower...to poison grey
The beggars winter, the almighty's reign

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