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Wheel Of Torture

Curse (islândia)


Wheel Of Torture

No words can fill the emptiness
Nor match the visions of black
The language of death
Seems somehow forbidden
Yet silence can speak through its eyes

When haunting the shadows at night
Or watching the stars
On a cold and clear wintersky
The secrets make us primitive

My mind is clear and cold
It has travelled for long
A bitter return
From where I belong

My path is destroyed
By the winds of time

Motionless, I grief my loss
In hatred I seek the night
Again for another gate
And the wind sings me an eerie song
And the darkness takes me home.

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