الكلمات الأصلية
ENالترجمة غير متاحة بعد. نعرض الكلمات الأصلية.
Hands of life, the sound
We realize their sounds
I don't try to statue cast you cold
In an atrium
Through our thoughts, we try to get our sense
But often now we are hopeful
From up high we lift the metal veil
In a surging sense of silence
I don't try to statue cast in mold
In an atrium
And we flee from chaos, shimmered blood
A new day, create a meaning
So we sleep and our thoughts become aglow
Like an ember from a pyre
I don't try to statue cast you more
In an atrium
I was told I approached your face
And growth so I've been showed
That you would not grow old
But from the embers
Another flame burns
Another shimmer
