Lletres:
Cigne Negre When The Angels Of Twilight Dance

creator of our race, I am the flourishing disease We are the ones who saw the truth behind their lies We are the twilight which killed their dawn, which

Four there were swords, four there were men All were them clad in one (shadow) Four pints of blood, four hands together Four shadows were melt in one

hid all from sight our bodies grew weak our skin seared by the light So why is it now that all is undone in the age when the moon makes pale the sun

I greet the Death with joy, not cry Autumn rides the storm and spreads her frost-covered wings Invocating freezing scorn, deflowering summer dreams shadows dance at the Henge when