Из альбома: The Shadowline

Spent whispers in the aching room

The chorus sings on yet love is crushed


We lie there, trapped in our own tomb

The bedclothes wrapped, lending to us

A winding-sheet for charnel lust

The mocking scene of former trust

I shall miss you, I shall miss you

But I think I ought now to go



Please don't touch me nor speak of love

No hint of tear to tell my deed

If you must talk

Then curse your love

As for no change your eyes will bleed



Boundaries change

The game is played

Speech that pleased you left me deceived

Obsequies poured to you betrayed

In your divinity I so believed

'Til all your secrets disappeared

My time to leave has now neared

When I go there'll be no winning pleas

To turn me from this sought for freeze



In shame I take the time to pause

As if this act can be redeemed

My fingers trace the lines I'll cause

Fresh furrows in the pale skin's gleam

My needs force you soon to be told

Your trusting sleep has since been sold



I shall miss you



But I think I ought now to go

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