The stream has you firmly in its control,
pulls you into the quiet realm,
some proud ship becomes decayed,
Like a skeleton.
The stream has you firmly in its control.
You are aware of the chains,
You are aware of the anchor.
So much remains, as it always has,
Even if you, must part.
You are aware of the chains.
See yourself in insatiable fangs.
Even the light gives in to the sounds of shadows.
Music.
Do you not hear your children's cries?
Music.
Ghostly voices echo.
Music.
Mortar between black stones.
Music.
And the abyss fears your fall.
Tell me, was it ever bright up there?
Was it nothing but a dream?
Memory fades so quickly
and offers room for doubt.
Tell me, was it ever bright up there?
See yourself in insatiable fangs.
Even the light gives in to the sounds of shadows.
Music.
Do you not hear your children's cries?
Music.
Ghostly voices echo.
Music.
Mortar between black stones.
Music.
And the abyss fears your fall.
Tell me, what kind of sleep is that,
in which you float adrift
in the cold, hopeless water?
You don't know if you're alive!
Music.
Do you not hear your children's cries?
Music.
Ghostly voices echo.
Music.
Mortar between black stones.
Music.
And the abyss fears your
music.
(Mortar between black stones.)
Music.