اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
All the misery you create,
and all the pain you shape...
You are not to blame, my friend.
Somebody filled your empty page
Shaped as we silently wept,
Confined (as) transformation begins.
The table was set and then we slept
as architects of time
So much grief behind the facade
and symptoms of certain demise.
We drown in fragrant illusions,
illusions of right and wrong.
We clench to a lustful saint
digging graves on top of our lives
Stuffed with values til we choke,
I guess we've reached the end of the rope
Through the mist, in the haze,
the impending doom's upon us
The dividing blade of nature
and man severed our callow breath
The sun will set
on the blindfolded
The self-appointed guardians
are scratching at my door.
We kiss their venomous lips
and join the hallowed parade.
Flying on paralyzed wings
wondering who we should be
As tyranny becomes normality;
We hang at the end of the rope
Through the mist, in the haze,
the impending doom's upon us
The dividing blade of nature
and man severed our callow breath
The sun will set
on the blindfolded
