Rullbräh : I´m learning the anxiety of happiness, it seemed deceitful long ago, but words of praise urge to birth a harbinger of butterfly flight. Rullbräh : Glory of spite, delight of blood, Happiness of happy - go luckies and the forever mute, of strong only in beauty and vulnerability living in the sorrow of their souls. Propeth : I come acorss happiness without looking for it, lost in the bottom of bitterness in the garden of faded flowers. Rullbräh : I´m listening to the whispering of voices, about the blossomed solitude of anandoned eyes, solitude agitates my heart. Rullbräh and Prophet : I will no longer, may be when I wake up . . .
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