The Devil's Instrument
Thoughts are spinning their inescapable threads,
Transforming us cruelly into marionettes.
Everything I feel is pain,
And the Devil, he holds us tightly in his hands.
Buried desperately in my chest a rose for myself,
A rose for the dead.
A serenade of tears, lifelessly we feel the beat,
Though no orchestra is there to be seen...
I am you, I am you - you are me.
What am I, what are you - who are we?
What is truth and what is lie,
Who are you and who am I?
In a cradle of mercy we're sleeping the half-sleep of oblivion.
No holy water could wash away our faults,
Nor benedictions purify our unclean souls.
The gates remain locked for the wingless children of wrath,
So long ago splintered and trodden down...
Us, children of glass...
Please, my Lord, extinguish the light,
The illumination hurts my eyes.
My choice was wrong, oh, so wrong,
Truly all I feel is pain...
I am you, I am you - you are me.
What am I, what are you - who are we?
What is truth and what is lie,
Who are you and who am I?
We are crying with wolves,
Like stones we're sleeping with the dead.
Soon we'll be gone...
And you shall be left the instrument.
I am you, I am you - you are me.
What am I, what are you - who are we?
What is truth and what is lie,
Who are you and who am I?
We are crying with wolves,
Like stones we are sleeping with the dead.
Soon we, we'll be gone...
And you shall be the instrument.
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