monster at my side. Hello, hello to who's ever out there. Can you please give us some more time. Or is this the final chapter. Final chapter of the
Tear dimmed rememberance In a womb of time Breath upon me Possessed by the passion Fate will set you free Infertile Chased be the precious When flesh
This is how the lucky feel How the blessed men think Like a daybreak in spring The sun on spring morning Like the flat brink of a cloud Like the dark
How does it feel, blessed to receive Be modest and forgiving How does it feel, you can try to hate me But you're only hurting yourself Drifting in your
Die I went to wash at the shore I went to bathe in the sea There I, a hen was lost I, a bird, ultimately died Waters of the sea So much blood of mine
Better it would be for me And better it would have been Had I not been born, not grown Not been brought into the world Not had to come to this earth Not
Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense Who say that music reckon that the kantele Was fashioned by God Out of a great pike's shoulders From a water
Where have you been, where have you been my son, my merry son? On the seashore, on the seashore mother, my darling one. And what have you been doing
In the morning mist by the waning moon Through the woods she set on foot With a sacred blade cut the berries down Dug up the dreaded mandrake root Tread
We have to know, we have to see Religions so many, which one is for real That it makes us to believe? Crushing the chains of faith To find the way of
Forging future from the timeless stone Oh let me know how far I can go Answering the questions that no one ever asks Float through the sea of madness
In the vale where I once listened out for the light Where the little birds warble The ptarmigans babble And my heart looked about for some rest from its
A bird flew out of Lapland An eagle from the north east One wing ruffled the water And the other swept the sky Its tail skimmed the sea It flutters,
"broadcast. talking words. real words. painful words. makes you look so cheap. you can't stand on your own. and i have ceased to care. digging. digging
[It is the belief of Marx that the personal is dead; that all is the political. Throughout history this can be seen as true; that the choices we make
hovering, or bodies discovering side by side our carefree minds. Chorus But that was once upon a time and happily ever after it's time to start a new chapter
Let?s call an end to peace In shadows we?ve been kneeling Open up our wrists to what we know so well. I brought you here to see our lives To see the black
lot 2006 the time had come we were signed This is story is chapter 1 (Listen) [CHORUS] This is the chapters The before and after The good the bad the pain and disaster The chapters
