Sunken are the eyes of my creation into a glass containing smelly puss Whatever sense of gratitude I may have felt It went away too soon
He was your son, I was your daughter and the dream would last a million years Embraced by the song of a million weeping strings and all forgotten things
The wheel was my father`s and mine was the stick
If you ask who made the castle crumble and who is left to blame I guess my answer to your question will most surely be
He played his strings through me revealed my symphony
The wheel was my father`s and mine was the stick
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