Far rests the day
Which the silence I beg
For breaking my thoughts, and then my spirit
Nurtured would be… by the flames of creation
Lost on the dead days of my history
I remember that once I desired
That my tears would never get born from my disbelief
Now I cry, now I cry… cry… disbelief
On the ashes of my memory
Drown in the house of ghosts
And this world’s dead, courts the funerals of
The bodies without a whisper of life
From the silence I’ve searched in my heart
From the tears, I didn’t want to suffer
The flames from the fireplace, show me the
Lost pieces on the horizon
Can a man be reborn in his disbelieves
Can a man die in his believes
When the silence does not answer, the tears fall
Nothing is left
Just to be the lord of your own ashes
Which the silence I beg
For breaking my thoughts, and then my spirit
Nurtured would be… by the flames of creation
Lost on the dead days of my history
I remember that once I desired
That my tears would never get born from my disbelief
Now I cry, now I cry… cry… disbelief
On the ashes of my memory
Drown in the house of ghosts
And this world’s dead, courts the funerals of
The bodies without a whisper of life
From the silence I’ve searched in my heart
From the tears, I didn’t want to suffer
The flames from the fireplace, show me the
Lost pieces on the horizon
Can a man be reborn in his disbelieves
Can a man die in his believes
When the silence does not answer, the tears fall
Nothing is left
Just to be the lord of your own ashes
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In Memory Of The Old Spirits
No God Above, No Devil Below