Tekster:
Cemetery Of Scream Deeppression

He was passing my world Whistlin' the melody In the simple suit with hands in his pockets Dirty pieces of paper Was floatin' in the air And he was marchin

Road made of crosses Way to the eternity Symbol of the death So ironic But adored by the living ones Crying their tears Prying over Over the cold stone

Image like fast spliced line Covered by the rough knots just like the bark covered by the brown knags. In the middle of the dead world left ship stands

Everything remained for behind me the longing in a middle of rapacious world Your whisper and your touch I will never forget I cannot hear a music Empty

He was passing my world Whistlin' the melody In the simple suit with hands in his pockets Dirty pieces of paper Was floatin' in the air And he was marchin

Cold waves Of the foaming flood Over the lowland Of gray soil The flowin' like an impulse From hearth to the brain Impulse of salvation When I was dying

I know that someday as the light Blur on my soul will switch off. You'll never know how much does your Gaze means for me Touch of your hand. The whisper

Road made of crosses Way to the eternity Symbol of the death So ironic But adored by the living ones Crying their tears Prying over Over the cold stone