Tytuł: Turn loose the swans
- Wykonawca: My Dying Bride
- Wy¶wietleń: 285
So little of what we observe, is the girl herself
Elaborate, scented coiffers
Adieu d'amour
Vast is the heirs ballroom
Let the rich give you presents
Heaven pours from her throat, as she sings and as she dances
The fumes of rich swine, honeyglazed and dripping, playing in the air
My mouth eager and wishing
But I return to this nightingale
Her hair all fiery red
Deep it is and wild
My weakness will be fed
Boys whipped on the altar of Diana
Sometimes until they died
The cunning, wily merchant, and his four crippled horses
Tales told in warlike manner
The storyteller by the fire
While musing deeply on this sight, the songster stirred my desire
You are sweet and fine to listen to
Long tresses about your neck
Yet much is false
This mighty evening, I've seen no face
This is crushing me
My quill it aches
Turn loose the swans that drew my poets craft
I'll dwell in desolate cities
You burned my wings
I leave this ode, splendid victorious through the carnage
I wanted to touch them all
I wanted to touch them all
