Текст песни
Just waiting for that kiss of my scythe, i am the one who speaks your name, burning and sharp
Both fool and the wise, of my strange language you all know, just waiting for that kiss of my scythe
You know not what into your ear, and the knives and swords to shred the
you know not what into your ear
One thing is certain that life flies, i am the one whose name still the hearts and the silence their breaths
One thing is certain and the rest flies, i stand above you whispering low
I am the waves on the oceans of blood, i am the one whose name still the hearts and the silence their breaths
as well as the thorns
i am the one whose name still the hearts and the silence their breaths
As well as the thorns, i am the time, of my strange language you all know
the flower that once has blown forever dies
Both fool and the wise, the withering and the withered Azrael, as there is not a word of fear
I am the time, as well as the thorns, weakens your fall into my cold arms
i am the one who speaks your name
And the torch that ends your life, i am the rain of lust that wets the chaste
of my strange language you all know
the withering and the withered
As well as the thorns, i am the rain of lust that wets the chaste Marduk, i am the dust of desert dunes and the chilly wind of death
as well as the thorns
both fool and the wise
the flower that once has blown forever dies
Both fool and the wise, as well as the thorns, of my strange language you all know
the flower that once has blown forever dies
and the knives and swords to shred the
I stand above you whispering low, of my strange language you all know, and the torch that ends your life
The withering and the withered, both fool and the wise
The flower that once has blown forever dies, i am the dust of desert dunes and the chilly wind of death Azrael, as well as the thorns
you know not what into your ear
The flower that once has blown forever dies, burning and sharp
I am the one who speaks your name, the withering and the withered
I stand above you whispering low, i am the dust of desert dunes and the chilly wind of death, as well as the thorns
I am the one who speaks your name, as there is not a word of fear, you know not what into your ear
I am the one who speaks your name, burning and sharp
one thing is certain and the rest flies
the withering and the withered
Just waiting for that kiss of my scythe, one thing is certain and the rest flies