At the sound of morning bells

A thousand stars have died since
I've swallowed this so bitter drop.
Only the darkness of my dreams were
Heaving to my regret.

Mixture lethal to the others,
Let me to rise up.
Because that face is hidden behind
Two masks, and if hatered gives me
That strenght -be blessed forever.

I'm afraid to close my eyes,
Your hand fails to bring warmth.
If I'll lay my head upon your chest,
I'll hear the sound of frozen heart.

You are mourtuary of feelings in living.
You are denial of what you're calling life.
You've holding in your hand invitation
For the celebration.

I've seen the temple full of the
Mourning bells when I was travelling
Out of myself.
Sound of melody got me down.
She stared at me without the sound.

Invited for the concert of the heart already dead,
Full of glory, cause appathy always allures her.
Death is a perfect player, and her hands are always clean.

Crow.