On Air: Blind Guardian - Noldor (Dead Winter Reigns)

venerdì, 05 gennaio 2007,15:51
what late forgotten nights to emptiness has given
and now november morning will be taken asunder
the shovel stained with dirt in the hours of belonging
dug into the undiscovered of a life, a pest, a plague


falling back into the arms - no never
admitting to a life alone - no
claiming there are sparks inside - no
outside looking back - no
so the lie never stopped

cling to the wave it cried and onward to the night
expecting not and nothing in the presence of a lie
the deeper that it dug the more now had to go
surrender was a fact and the room was decorated
no, no, no - the lie never stopped
what late forgotten nights to emptiness has given

the strangers may they come in ignorance's disguise
so into the dark walking to leave the last of times
kneedeep in desperation to fill the gap behind

boldly thread the night forever
november thoughts are right - oh never
taken from the fall - no

frightened by the key but the trail behind the house
felt compelling and new - the lie never stopped
found at loss for words, now words aren't enough

someone told, a vacancy was open
someone laughed, the silence here was broken
dug up to make room
the room which you furnaced and graced
there is no vacancy
the least can fill the fountain
the most will flood the mold
author: Mishra
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mercoledì, 07 settembre 2005,12:13
Tried of dull ages, I walk the same ground,
collecting the tragedies still
Hollow ambitions in a hollow mind
carried my cross to the hill

And how I lust for the dance and the fire
deep of the nectarine sunset to drink
spill me the wind and its fire
to steal of the colors - I'm the moonshield

Shattered hope became my guide
and grief and pain my friends
a brother pact in a blood-ink penned
declare my silent end

Naked and dying under worlds of silent stone
reaching for the moonshield that once upon us shone

Naked an dying under worlds of silent stone
reaching for the moonshield that once upon us shone

And how I lust for the dance and the fire
deep of the nectarine sunset to drink
spill me the wind and its fire
to steal of the colors
I'm the
I'm the
I'm the
I'm the moonshield
author: Mishra
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