Music pours from heaven.
Tacts similar to fate,
descend on the forest,
in melancholy. I wont hide:
tears of an ecstatic soul,
muffled sobbing,
everything that will come true has already
in the texts of mournful scripture.
Serenade of the Moon
space is bewitched.
Its a pity you cant hear her.
In this: the essence of constancy.
Tacts similar to fate,
descend on the forest,
in melancholy. I wont hide:
tears of an ecstatic soul,
muffled sobbing,
everything that will come true has already
in the texts of mournful scripture.
Serenade of the Moon
space is bewitched.
Its a pity you cant hear her.
In this: the essence of constancy.