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hurry my steeds chased by the wind |
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across the crystal meadows |
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nobody will hear the piano of melancholy |
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the music is dancing in my heart |
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in the midst of the stillness and the storm |
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when the past closes my feelings in the ice-chains |
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I will rise the mirror of my visions above the thoughts |
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to steal merciless the flower of the gods |
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which they give away falsely |
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and the blast of magic and the blackness of sin |
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will undermine my scarlet face |
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when the wind mutter dreadful |
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you will feel my kiss |
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when the wind blows into the horns |
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you will feel the flames of blazing blood |
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because only I am the god in my secret garden |
