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You think that this night will be the last, |
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the loathsome details of this tranquillity, |
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beyond from the last frontiers of the mother earth |
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all of a sweat bodies and black murky shapes. |
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Recollections and dirges mangled by the time, |
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the ideals worships of this crude religion, after every dawn, |
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hoping for a rainbow that may never come, |
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shadows which you can't feel. |
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(CHORUS:) |
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Macabre apparition, like a flight of dead swans, |
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unable to see the forest for the trees. |
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(BRIDGE:) |
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An oasis which is not an illusion it will be forever there waiting. |
|
You think that this night will be the last, |
|
the loathsome details of this tranquillity, |
|
beyond from the last frontiers of the mother earth |
|
all of a sweat bodies and black murky shapes. |
|
(CHORUS) |
