Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence
The ruins of this valley without colour and timeless I was left in the bank of the nocturnal river near to my soul
Watch the eternity drags the abyss among the shadows of an enigmatic awakening And the vision of the silent tree covers the snow
When the running waters scorn the whisper of the wrath in the elapse of the swamp the Spirit goes over the sorrow
The death is an oak with an inexpressible gaze
In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning
The symbolism left in the certainties little more of what I see in this bogs The raw winter left death´s smell in the thickness of misery
The things take me to the immensity and the immensity take me to the another things
The gloomy melody of the trees knows that the blaze of wind dies in every rainy morning of autumn
in the threshold of the night, the tree
all the sadness of winter and life shut herself in the mystery of this everlasting rainless
The shadow´s black sanctuary is still ominous
The frost occults herself in the eyes of whom we left back
In the panteistic pinnacle of hate lies the winter´s temple and in the abode of the stars flows the painful river of the horizon Wish I never hear the silent twilight of the night
In the journey to the past somebody write something without meaning
Arrive to the way through the forgotten garden... The orchids are still in silence