Desires

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

I hate and love. You are asking me why. I don´t know. I feel both boil, I am only suffering and tortured about it. In eternal embrace I want to be with you. Why you betrayed our love when it was so sweet, however now it´s acrid like a vine. My nights become an eternal dream in which I am stroking and kissing your naked body and stupafy it´s smell. Falling down delight passion. Tears are dipping my face. Maybe I´ll see light of day which is waking up from the ocean. My heart knows longing for clean and immaculate love. But now I worry about your treacherous virgin lips. You´ll cry, my love, when I´ll be burnt on the bier. Kisses at plaintive tears you´ll press to my face. You´ll be surely cry, perhaps you haven´t stone in your tender heart and your chest isn´t close by hard iron. Nobody from the funeral can´t go home without no damped eye. You don´t defy my shadow and be thrifty to the soft hair, please and slim faces, my love too.

Submitted by Morgoth — Apr 25, 2025

This track is instrumental.

Is this song not instrumental?

You seek a feeling of future at the unknown paths, where your dream about life harmony wonders, ego in the chaos of grey tears, survives between the walls of reality, floats to the strange sea of felicity. You wish to open the empire of splendour, where dreams acquire the real form, but the key of your courage lies in the deep temple of conscience. Conquering the paradise of your happy ideas. You dream about images of unreal theatre. Heavy legs let loose from the land and you hover in the clouds of visions.

Submitted by VladTheImpaler666 — Apr 25, 2025

Message of the past slumbers in the dust of ancient ages, written by the blood of nations over the thousands of years. Temples of dead pleasure hug the rites of black and white visions, that step hand in hand through the past like bloody ribbon of madness. Over the altars, the dumb witness, hovers the images of disfigured souls, sick by the faith of shackling commandments. Fates of blind men are incarnate in the heart of their Saviour and his pain turned the lifes into the way to Golgotha, where the pilgrimage by the scenery of love and devotion to Lord ends. In that old chronicle I read about the lust and sin, evil and eternal immaculation, which defy an evil of longing. I wade in the vanity of looking up the rays of beauty among the dark pages of hate and rituals. However now that old tree, through the ages watered by the tears of misery revives its sad forms in the birth of hope. Love history will resurrect, rise from the flower of the white lily and the beautiful swan will sing the song for all the evil of the shady history.

Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 25, 2025