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The Static Cult

As cinders fade on frosted ground
Above the ravens circle round
A haunting dirge that embodies misery
Walked by spirits at our sides
Our graves fated pilgrim shrines
Our hopes and fears born out of tragedy

Under haunting skies that shroud
Our heads bloody but unbowed
We salivate for salvation, salvation
We are the voice you can't confine
The chill crawling down your spine
We salivate for salvation

With our breath we fan the flames
As fog falls o'er time beaten graves
With embers aglow on unburthen'd air our voices grow
Our liberty in requiem
Like sky and stars to prisoned men
Our elegy to nepenthe
Our mourning sorrow

Composição: The Static Cult
Enviada por Sylvio.
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