Holy Grief کے بول

Straps of sorrow cover the spirit Wandering in the shadows of life and death Raging emotions turn to numbness As the images of those long gone recede. The skies bleed awe And lakes cry blood As we lay apart Retching our love. Psalms of the ancient ones Pierce the withering throat of our faith And we inhale the smell Of divinity rotting in its grave. One last memory mingles Of faint chants and broken vows And until the next dawn It shall engulf the sanity of his mind Blinded by false light He steps on razors and shattered glass No pain tears his flesh The real agony is already gone. In the kingdom of holy grief The mourning of the wanderer begins No veils ,no remorse Only the whispers of a foreign shore.