گیت کے بول کے نقاط
ENاصل بول
ترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
A glade in the wood
Where the sun shines
Between the trees we are imprisoned
In this God's gladeIt burns it scorches
When the light licks our flesh
Goes toward the sky a smoke
A cloud of our form
Prisoners of the burials
Tormented by God's goodness
No flame no hate
They were right we have come to Hell
