歌曲 | Sirens In Filth |
歌手 | Novembre |
专辑 | Dreams D´azur |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Orlando | |
Bitterness blows in the heart | |
Like chilly draughts in the hall | |
Of a crystal castle | |
Lost among clouds made of gold | |
Those anxieting visions | |
Images behind frozen windows | |
Make my eyes bleed | |
Ebony blood | |
When the silvergray fluid shall crack reality's walls | |
Mixing with blood and filth as sirens swimming in pitch | |
When the sweet arcades of these desperate our owns | |
Trickle down upon yhe misery of this dead everyday life | |
Like pitch on your wings | |
Like a child lost in a war | |
Like dark paint upon a shiny picture | |
Like dirty sperm on a toy | |
And whwn the new star will shine of its own black | |
And there will be nowhere to shelter | |
Maybe they'll understand who we are | |
What we'll always cry for |
zuo qu : Orlando | |
Bitterness blows in the heart | |
Like chilly draughts in the hall | |
Of a crystal castle | |
Lost among clouds made of gold | |
Those anxieting visions | |
Images behind frozen windows | |
Make my eyes bleed | |
Ebony blood | |
When the silvergray fluid shall crack reality' s walls | |
Mixing with blood and filth as sirens swimming in pitch | |
When the sweet arcades of these desperate our owns | |
Trickle down upon yhe misery of this dead everyday life | |
Like pitch on your wings | |
Like a child lost in a war | |
Like dark paint upon a shiny picture | |
Like dirty sperm on a toy | |
And whwn the new star will shine of its own black | |
And there will be nowhere to shelter | |
Maybe they' ll understand who we are | |
What we' ll always cry for |
zuò qǔ : Orlando | |
Bitterness blows in the heart | |
Like chilly draughts in the hall | |
Of a crystal castle | |
Lost among clouds made of gold | |
Those anxieting visions | |
Images behind frozen windows | |
Make my eyes bleed | |
Ebony blood | |
When the silvergray fluid shall crack reality' s walls | |
Mixing with blood and filth as sirens swimming in pitch | |
When the sweet arcades of these desperate our owns | |
Trickle down upon yhe misery of this dead everyday life | |
Like pitch on your wings | |
Like a child lost in a war | |
Like dark paint upon a shiny picture | |
Like dirty sperm on a toy | |
And whwn the new star will shine of its own black | |
And there will be nowhere to shelter | |
Maybe they' ll understand who we are | |
What we' ll always cry for |