The Swords of the Headless Angels
Borgne
GENRE
For the Ones who look at the skies
May miss the danger in front of them
I was a dreamer, whispering to the stars
Without getting any answers
As I nourished the hunger of the well
With meaningless illusions
And you were also bathed in your own lies
I would like to tighten your throat
Keep you below the waves of denial
Until your last spark goes out
And the turmoil stops
Will we ever realize
That every prayer hides a curse?
A bottlе thrown into an ocean of vanity
Thinking that our problems desеrve to be solved
Without poisoning others’ chalices
I would like to tighten your throat
Keep you below the waves of denial
Until your last spark goes out
And the turmoil stops
When the swords of the headless angels
Who come upon the Earth in a ghostly procession
Will afflict the fundaments of our shrines
Will we be able to accept our defeat?
Will we see a wise radiance behind the curtains of grief?
Or will we sink, blind again
Into the streams of deception and delusion
While singing some insane, meaningless and empty litanies?
The witches aren’t dancing around the fires anymore
A mysterious peril hides, needing no spell
Standing against a self-destroying tribe
May miss the danger in front of them
I was a dreamer, whispering to the stars
Without getting any answers
As I nourished the hunger of the well
With meaningless illusions
And you were also bathed in your own lies
I would like to tighten your throat
Keep you below the waves of denial
Until your last spark goes out
And the turmoil stops
Will we ever realize
That every prayer hides a curse?
A bottlе thrown into an ocean of vanity
Thinking that our problems desеrve to be solved
Without poisoning others’ chalices
I would like to tighten your throat
Keep you below the waves of denial
Until your last spark goes out
And the turmoil stops
When the swords of the headless angels
Who come upon the Earth in a ghostly procession
Will afflict the fundaments of our shrines
Will we be able to accept our defeat?
Will we see a wise radiance behind the curtains of grief?
Or will we sink, blind again
Into the streams of deception and delusion
While singing some insane, meaningless and empty litanies?
The witches aren’t dancing around the fires anymore
A mysterious peril hides, needing no spell
Standing against a self-destroying tribe
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