Tekster:
Novembre Flower

the north someone warm up his own beloved a feeble flower of the north No one can hear their sos but could someone ever care less, of those two flowers

: Walking alone with a tempting grin to follow the voice that guides a small frown. Sobs echo past these blinded eyes and deny me of my happiness. Dismal

: A moonlit breeze softly flows past the ancient night. Always calling out to the saints who hear nothing. Never to see the royality of age, and the

: Embrace the silence and listen to me. Our time is short and my words are pure. For every song the angels sing and for every leaf that falls, I will

: Enjoy the sunlight and ride the winds. Forever warm, for I see now, happiness facades my sorrow. This outer smile is torn by grief, and my sunlight

absence of a holy shrine. Eating dirt to fill this void that remains empty and dry. Liquid from my tears that plummet for eternity, help to drown the flowers