Broken bodies stiff from storms Our spirits scarred to ice The only witness left alive The raven and its staring eyes Taste the blood Hear their cries
I?m building an army of misplaced lovers Known as ?the others? Working under covers of love Cause we got nowhere else to go Gonna enlist every baldheaded
South of the river's mouth Migration slopes slowly towards mainland. There, the salt air Fills the gills of the dead bait in hand. The deep is in riot
I?m getting sick Of you calling it ?chic? To describe what is that I am when I know that I?m damned, cause I got no own place to go I?m getting sick
Traduzione: L'Arca. Gli Altri.
Traduzione: L'Arca. Gli esseri umani o bestie.
Traduzione: My Heart To Joy. Gli empi Arch-villian Voltaire Is Dead.
: Broken bodies stiff from storms Our spirits scarred to ice The only witness left alive The raven and its staring eyes Taste the blood Hear their cries