گیت کے بول کے نقاط
ENاصل بول
ترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
What can ever bloom again, when the power to live is missing, dryness sows hate inside of my heart.
Fading lust, a flower made of stone, forgotten in being.
Broken of life, disintegrated of illusion.
The dread lets me feel the force of love, to refuse my power, I hate the thirst of love.
It will judge me, judge me until death.
Sunday means flesh.
