Cold Raw To Quench Dying's Thirst Who Lies On Despair Mud Sweaty Front Forebodes Delirium.
He Begs Once More Before Starting Migration.
On Distance The Chorus Of Parcas Sing Your Name, Shuddering You Pray And Recogninzing Your Voice In That Sattirical Echo You Know There Will Be No Answer, The Vision Fades Away.
A New Landscape Beats In Front Of You Splendour Of A Vast World.
Bright Colours Embrance Your Chest You Remember The Words Of The Happy Ones And You Know They Are Wrong.
In This Magic Place You Can Laught Greeting The Sentenceless Creatures.
They Speak About Death Without Knowing When The Only Thing Witch Dies Is Pain So You Sympathize With Those Happy Ones Who Won't Enjoy This Moment.