Cadaveria

After foggy and funereal days In a mixture of sadness and devotion, memory and mental escape I take back my life A bit confused, but more conscious of my way. I wish warm affections True emotions Absence of artifice. I want to rock myself on my arts

Beautiful witch give light to this black muddy sky Snatch darkness from these hours devoid of evening and morning devoid of stars and funereal lightnings. There is a path with no light and no moon I ran through it to rescue my flesh from the poisoned

I woke up from a driven coma. Around me bewildered glances, stunned by fear, Ghosts with bruised bodies. Faces obscure and sting. Who don't know anything about themselves. The night annihilated what they built during the day. Daylight promotes the we

And on the street it walks The wrong way It withers all flowers And death sings, sings, a song With his white guitar And death sings, sings... Would you mind if I die? And death sings, sings... Sings... Would you mind if I die? I write about sensatio

Spectre of death influencing our lives, you hang over us You bite our hips we undergo your second level effects You sunk us in your vortex, you cyclically return to molest our certainty. I reject repetitions, I cannot keep abreast of my thoughts, too