Transcendence کے بول

Your warmth is false Inside your hollow bosom You'll hide the solitude Of the distant stars In your party none celebrates Grey autumn transcendence Minutes turn into oblivion Our voices to mould Your hangman smile My soul in your hands I drink from your breasts Grey autumn solitude And I can see through your eyes It's time to go And I can see through your smile It's time to go All those long dead hours Frequent time stops Minutes turn into oblivion Our voices to mould Drowned wasps floating in the chalice of the sweet nectar all those beautiful moths eaten by flies in this bizarre carnival of a life-lasting funeral Grey autumn Play your lyre For one last time