Appollonia - To Nameless Sons | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Appollonia
• To Nameless Sons

Gather the nameless, sons of time,
Dress up for success, it's a funeral,
Congrats to all, you made it real,
The north of the compass, just lost south.

Here we are, stuck between,
A race for triumph, and a will to live,
High expectations, never matched our plans,
Just modest dreams, of beauty and peace.

The lives you take, they die in your arms,
The plastic taste, of love in your mouth.

Speaking from the mouth of a cut out tongue,
A dead language fills the room,
It cries out loud:
"Love me, for I am the one to cover you with
Hatred, in the pale rise of the morning sun and
Silence, to be broken with words you'll choke upon when you
Awake, so bitter to part with the ghosts of ours."

So love me... and hate me... in silence... you'll awake... so bitter, so bitter...

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