الكلمات الأصلية
ENالترجمة غير متاحة بعد. نعرض الكلمات الأصلية.
Feel the ancient sound
With a feathered pulse
The aged thrush
Bound to death's dark wing
Silently it asks
Do we need joy?
It's nothing more
Than shame and loss
Morning choir sings
To warm the hearts
Of crueler beings
As they take my wings
