| <Chryst> page <Waterhells> album page |
WaterhellsNo Sails to be hoist in the Morning, No Way - just empty Horizons. And deaf is all Noise in the cold Spray, But loud tears what comes in Mind... tears what comes in Mind. Slow rot all earthly Shells Embrace a thousand Hells Alone in a Pit with the Demons, Engreased by festering Grotesque, Immured every Limb without Movement Long Nights 'till suddenly SmokeLasers light -'till Fires for the Count's Rise blaze bright |