Distant thunder
Shroud of grey
To electric gods I pray
Ivory tower
Modern way
Flowers wilt and colours fade
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born
Some are born to sweet delight
Some are born to endless night
The curator of a pale heart
dreaming of the days it had a pulse
Framed in silver
Raised in shade
Fragile psyche born from pain
A millennium in a day
Graceful degradation of my faith
From the shores of love I depart
The curator of a pale heart
Null and void

ENVIAR CORRECCIONES