Sometimes the words Aren’t anything else than breaths Sometimes the thoughts Aren’t anything else than dreams sometimes the rain never stops falling down and in the dark she keeps her smell. An hand stirs in the shade; arcane instrument of feelings, it transcribes with ink what her master feels. Then the hand stops,doesn’t move… But her master feels… The damnation now starts…
A small letter adorns the brown table, wax to veil the private words; Sealed With A Kiss.
Your ardour doesn't be dissolved, you haven’t buried what you were ground has been shifted and your soul is risen. You can now believe… Seal with a kiss that you’re living.
A small letter adorns the brown table, wax to veil the private words; Sealed With A Kiss.