MY DYING BRIDE
Sear Me III
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- MY DYING BRIDE
- Into The Lake Of Ghosts
Текст песни MY DYING BRIDE - Into The Lake Of Ghosts
Все тексты MY DYING BRIDE
(7:11)
Enter the Ghost Lake.
The waters whisper
Of something brooding.
No way out of here.
Slow smouldering,
Slow smouldering heat.
Lapping at your skin
Источник https://alllyr.ru/song35163
Pulling you down again.
I wish that I could
Fan back to life
The dying embers
Of my long lost passion.
Descending deeper.
With black as my light.
With twist and turn.
We look for light to call.
The call to save us all.
Lest we fall to our knees.
The death, we kiss his feet.
Oh, sacred mother come.
For our fate is done.
In blindness do we run
Always backwards.
The care of many
Was lost in my hands.
The sickness came in
Floods of torment and woe.
My withered body.
Aching and bone tired.
My christ who art lord.
Hold me down again.
Knee bent and head held low.
Eyes closed against my foe.
In prayer I sing on low.
Answers to my last call.
Oh, sacred father come.
For it is you who's done.
In blindness do we run.
And be sure not to fall.
Oh, christ, what have I done?
Ill fortune now will come.
Fire raining from the sun.
All virtue swept away.
In floods of blackest death.
(7:11)
Enter the Ghost Lake.
The waters whisper
Of something brooding.
No way out of here.
Slow smouldering,
Slow smouldering heat.
Lapping at your skin
Источник https://alllyr.ru/song35163
Pulling you down again.
I wish that I could
Fan back to life
The dying embers
Of my long lost passion.
Descending deeper.
With black as my light.
With twist and turn.
We look for light to call.
The call to save us all.
Lest we fall to our knees.
The death, we kiss his feet.
Oh, sacred mother come.
For our fate is done.
In blindness do we run
Always backwards.
The care of many
Was lost in my hands.
The sickness came in
Floods of torment and woe.
My withered body.
Aching and bone tired.
My christ who art lord.
Hold me down again.
Knee bent and head held low.
Eyes closed against my foe.
In prayer I sing on low.
Answers to my last call.
Oh, sacred father come.
For it is you who's done.
In blindness do we run.
And be sure not to fall.
Oh, christ, what have I done?
Ill fortune now will come.
Fire raining from the sun.
All virtue swept away.
In floods of blackest death.
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