It is the silance of death.
The sun slowly makes way for the moon, persive as the forehead of a poet.
In the former terrestrial you cannot hear cheerfulness and singing.
The forest is dying and instead of a poem with flowers and birds, it will resemble with a poem of laziness.
Bright colours, full of life are disappearing without shame, leaving behind a gloomy image, like a verse from a dark poem.
With each moment that pases the fear created by the cold wind, which is almost giving you a warning, and the repulsive silence make you run.
And you run with your heart full of fright!
You run,run
Now you unde
It is the silance of death.
The sun slowly makes way for the moon, persive as the forehead of a poet.
In the former terrestrial you cannot hear cheerfulness and singing.
The forest is dying and instead of a poem with flowers and birds, it will resemble with a poem of laziness.
Bright colours, full of life are disappearing without shame, leaving behind a gloomy image, like a verse from a dark poem.
With each moment that pases the fear created by the cold wind, which is almost giving you a warning, and the repulsive silence make you run.
And you run with your heart full of fright!
You run,run
Now you unde