dezembro 01, 2003

The Sorrow Of A Young Widow

I feel the pain on my chest,
The pain of being alone ‘tills the end.
No one will be the God of my dark,
The hero that will treat me like a friend.
I shall arise from the dusk,
Like the sun in the end of my sight,
I will fight with tears and blood
But this night will breathe the light.

Look to my face, wet with my tears,
My cry... My scream... An eco of my fears.
The land... The dust... Will clean your bones
But your smile, your life, forever grows.
In the day that you gone
I think that I’ll never be strong,
But when you lay on your grave
I know that I got to be brave.



Posted by almahperditae at dezembro 1, 2003 01:22 AM
Comments

há quem tenha "pancas" com homens de rastas... de kilts... Mulheres com lingerie vermelha... Na tua photo está a minha panca! Apesar de morto, sempre belo...

Posted by: downthesun at dezembro 1, 2003 05:17 PM

belo, decadente, melancolico...
existe algo mais gó k isso?
alias.. isos é a propria descriçao do gotico. nao sei como ha gente k nao consegue ver a beleza desta pic :) (tu tb nao a ves, so ves a gaja lol)

Posted by: Almah Perditae at dezembro 1, 2003 05:49 PM