Добірка відчаю, який не встиг доспіти, щоб ставши переконливим, пробитись крізь асфальт
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What's left for us is solitude
of our-selves
In crosses or in circles do we live?
In soil we meet, so soon we'll die
and worm will judge our deeds.
Atrocity or virtue - who will care?
Crusaders resurrect and die
in HolyWar
May EVERYONE so glorioulsy die
then egoism will go there too
and free all men from gloom
Immense amount of our faith
enough to drown
our brood in blood. Far not enough to love
and cease revenging sprees of rage.
So please yourself, you are the one
that causes pain
but I don't care. In soil we'll meet again.
You have the right, you have the cause
to do that way.
Why choose belief in love in vain?
