Tragedy's Birth 歌词

	作曲 : MacUilliam, Nemthenga ...
	The crippled oracle breathes his lungs like grit
	His blackened hands, like maps of ungodly lands
	Skin as leather, burnt by the sun
	This world is not for him, this world is not for
	You nor I
	When the Gods were young the burden was less
	It was not grief and it was not fear
	Who cast the shadow upon our age?
	Who has crippled the young and blinded their eyes?
	He counts the hours, days and awful years
	To when the children stare into the sun
	The mountains crumble to the sea
	And our civilisations turn to dust
	They are turned to dust
	So slumber watcher, till the spheres
	Have turned ten and twenty thousand years
	The crippled oracle breathes, his lungs like grit
	This world is not for him, this world is not for
	You nor I...

	zuo qu : MacUilliam, Nemthenga ...
	The crippled oracle breathes his lungs like grit
	His blackened hands, like maps of ungodly lands
	Skin as leather, burnt by the sun
	This world is not for him, this world is not for
	You nor I
	When the Gods were young the burden was less
	It was not grief and it was not fear
	Who cast the shadow upon our age?
	Who has crippled the young and blinded their eyes?
	He counts the hours, days and awful years
	To when the children stare into the sun
	The mountains crumble to the sea
	And our civilisations turn to dust
	They are turned to dust
	So slumber watcher, till the spheres
	Have turned ten and twenty thousand years
	The crippled oracle breathes, his lungs like grit
	This world is not for him, this world is not for
	You nor I...

	zuò qǔ : MacUilliam, Nemthenga ...
	The crippled oracle breathes his lungs like grit
	His blackened hands, like maps of ungodly lands
	Skin as leather, burnt by the sun
	This world is not for him, this world is not for
	You nor I
	When the Gods were young the burden was less
	It was not grief and it was not fear
	Who cast the shadow upon our age?
	Who has crippled the young and blinded their eyes?
	He counts the hours, days and awful years
	To when the children stare into the sun
	The mountains crumble to the sea
	And our civilisations turn to dust
	They are turned to dust
	So slumber watcher, till the spheres
	Have turned ten and twenty thousand years
	The crippled oracle breathes, his lungs like grit
	This world is not for him, this world is not for
	You nor I...

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