Testo di The Architects

Ornaments in silent darkness, the image of man now torn from its structure The smell of need, the dwarfed soul of man, attuned only to flesh suffering from frustration Alien to our own spirits We're naked even in death The dawn is yet to come to fill us with knowledge Pulsating waves of colour, bleeding off into the black A whisper of red screams through the night The architects and the flesh