Aleph

You call me but I can't hear you.

I'm leaving for a place where the dead wind brings red milk.

Angels face greens of lonliness.

Sculptors blow a megadeath.

In an angel's world we will stone our excuse,

While desire hurts the muse.

Angony wishes the ends;

Enemy takes out the scents

Symphony gathers the bents;

Irony pulls out from my veins

Heaven of my sighs will shine a war of dizziness;

Gestures of my demand will be dead in happiness;

I believe in an elusive half darkness;

Now I justify my strength and willingness in death.

I take cries from my craziness;

And I burn the grooms of my happiness;

Ivory bells flow wine from mystic sensations;

We will gild the end of passions.

Slayers are fantasy's games

Crossing in my blood with jokes

And die in my eyes.