We're going up, we close our eyes.
Where we heard the light, there are only words left.
Where the sound ends, my last sun turns into dust.
In the miracle revelations all that we are looking for is ourselves.
And our facets are simple, and our form is full.
And in our windows the fog hid my last sun in a ċolorful veil.
And you are burning hardly making a sound, and every step you take,
Pieces of a broken dream, it all seems somehow wrong again.
Lights out on all the poles, and my last sun is burning in the frozen eyes.
It was easier for me then, it will get easier for me later.
And the holiness of those who burnt in doubt, shackled with ice
On the road where except hope and a clot of strange syllables there is one last sun.
And while passing by from one wall to another one
I watch the light spreading our love like primeval surface through nameless dreams.
Our last sun.
And you are burning hardly making a sound, and every step you take,
Pieces of a broken dream, it all seems somehow wrong again.
Lights out on all the poles, and my last sun is burning in the frozen eyes.