I pray although it's the end of the time,
The angel wakes up to flutter his wings.
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.
Snowflakes are the angel's feathers, like springs.
They dance with the wind of change, in despair.
The sky glows pinkly in the shades of things.
We're like icy trees screaming at the air,
With icy leaves and crystal hearts, we dream
The crystals of wept tears in our prayer.
Within sky vastness is our bleeding scream,
Digging early graves in the war of crime,
While our thread of love weaves wounds for life's gleam.
I pray although it's the end of the time,
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
I pray although it's the end of the time,
The angel wakes up to flutter his wings.
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.
Snowflakes are the angel's feathers, like springs.
They dance with the wind of change, in despair.
The sky glows pinkly in the shades of things.
We're like icy trees screaming at the air,
With icy leaves and crystal hearts, we dream
The crystals of wept tears in our prayer.
Within sky vastness is our bleeding scream,
Digging early graves in the war of crime,
While our thread of love weaves wounds for life's gleam.
I pray although it's the end of the time,
Fluffing up the cloud's pillow, he's sublime.
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