Rising of the Mourn
See it beyond the hills of dreams
Through the eye of needle turned red
Roses scattered upon broken glass so as to cover the pain as it cuts
Through the eye of needle turned red
Roses scattered upon broken glass so as to cover the pain as it cuts
Pain, pain that surges like wave as it rips and tears
The heart bleeding in woe for no dawn will come
Nay the dawn...
but then..
that is as should be,
aye..for the dawn not dare to rise
not dare breathe breath upon a morning where you are not found
Nye,
it is but rain to fall
that clouds may stay dark
and upon thy star doth pierce
oh for want of crimson flame
To hear once more thy song
If only...
if only..
What horrid fate tis
the time is nye
Time to wake from longing dream.
(C) Bluefire Night