Song to the World Turned off It's Faith
My matutinal flower with your unbridled mood,
I asked from the skies you to be my pair
One after the other waste meadows besides us,
mutetowered nights being plegnant with fogyoke
All the flowers' music being killed by the days,
living from their lymph, as abounding theives
On prays had been fallen we grew dry stalks only
We may conceal that we were born anxiously
My crying flower with your unbridled mood,
how could I ask you to be my pair, again?
On your Sunthorn injured, been abused body
by metal curtain scrabbled, venenated wounds
Holines of the sky, the explosing stars!
They all turned frozen coalneedles in black field
falling down from petrified homeland of catatony,
spat-out treasures from the throat of the Universe
My bending flower with your unbridled mood,
I put an oath to you, so as to be my pair
From your tortured body as springing/pearling a sigh
raised unto the heaven a premature-borned dawn
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