اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
The feeling as if cold, jagged steel was carving your flesh
The knowledge of order, chaos and all in between
The awareness of a cold world in which no one breathes
And with yearn
The loneliness of a universe of unlimited creatures
The undiscriminating hate, the curse of being a god
The melancholy of ghosts haunting wherever we go
We are their castles
The phantoms of other times finding it's ways through the mist
The useless excellence of a world without soul, without hope
The violent, ghastly storms of rage
And the silence thereafter
