Death From Above
Banned
Read my words..
Night Of The Morning
Every morning has a night,
Peaceful,quiet night..
I yearn for night,
Take me to your embrace moonlight..
Arms of the dark,
Pulls me to itself,
I find peace in moonlight,
Faces of angels around me..
Burning fire in that heart,
I find peace in twilight..
I am dying,
Without love,
Only thing i had in life,
Happiness and collapse..
Winds of the night,
Fly me to the moon,
The sword behind me,
Stab in to my heart,
And bid my blood to land..
I want leave my blood left.
I dont need it,i dont feel it.
Faces of angels,
Save me from the nothing i've become.
Faces of the angels,
Take me to infinity of darkness,
Peace,faith and quiet,
Save me before the dawn..
A poor poet..
Between dry grasses,
A man with his wounded breast and horse,
His sprained heart,ruined dreams,
He is just a poor poet.
Her name is carved to his heart,
Enchantced her name to his every side,
But why she care,
He is just a poor poet..
How worthy are my poems?
Or wait death with wet eyes,
A wound of rose on his heart,
A tear falling from his eye,
A man has only love,
He is just a poor poet..
Be hitten from heart is different,
Looking hiddenly to big love near enemy,
But he just worth with his tears,
But he is just a poor poet..
Every tear stabs like a dagger to his heart,
Does it worth,for love he,
But just,
He is just a poor poet..
How are them?
Night Of The Morning
Every morning has a night,
Peaceful,quiet night..
I yearn for night,
Take me to your embrace moonlight..
Arms of the dark,
Pulls me to itself,
I find peace in moonlight,
Faces of angels around me..
Burning fire in that heart,
I find peace in twilight..
I am dying,
Without love,
Only thing i had in life,
Happiness and collapse..
Winds of the night,
Fly me to the moon,
The sword behind me,
Stab in to my heart,
And bid my blood to land..
I want leave my blood left.
I dont need it,i dont feel it.
Faces of angels,
Save me from the nothing i've become.
Faces of the angels,
Take me to infinity of darkness,
Peace,faith and quiet,
Save me before the dawn..
A poor poet..
Between dry grasses,
A man with his wounded breast and horse,
His sprained heart,ruined dreams,
He is just a poor poet.
Her name is carved to his heart,
Enchantced her name to his every side,
But why she care,
He is just a poor poet..
How worthy are my poems?
Or wait death with wet eyes,
A wound of rose on his heart,
A tear falling from his eye,
A man has only love,
He is just a poor poet..
Be hitten from heart is different,
Looking hiddenly to big love near enemy,
But he just worth with his tears,
But he is just a poor poet..
Every tear stabs like a dagger to his heart,
Does it worth,for love he,
But just,
He is just a poor poet..
How are them?