[Rullbrah:] I'm learning the anxiety of happiness,
it seemed deceitful long ago, but words of praise urge
to birth
a harbinger of butterfly flight.
[Rullbrah:] Glory of spite, delight of blood,
Happiness of happy - go luckies
and the forever mute,
of strong only in beauty and vulnerability
living in the sorrow of their souls.
[Propeth:] I come acorss happiness
without looking for it,
lost in the bottom of bitterness
in the garden of faded flowers.
[Rullbrah:] I'm listening to the whispering of voices,
about the blossomed solitude of anandoned eyes,
solitude agitates my heart.
Rullbrah and Prophet : I will no
longer, may be when I wake up . . .