December Flower کے بول

Towards the rich archaic heavens; towards the lack diorama you are the artist of the texture that plays with the mantle of the earth When the bleakest of powders lie rooted to the starched stones and roots that feed the peaking trees embrace the sleeping shores Archaic pearls of sleep and death the voice of December losing its breath and the floweryard of white and grey is haunted White as the down of flaking snow, the heroic emblems of life Green is the colour of my death as in winter-guise I swoop towards the ground Green is the landscape of my sorrowfilled passing We are In Flames towards the dead archaic heavens We Are The Mantle And The Texture the alters the mantle of the earth