Traing to speak at a tongue of snakes, every word is a sigh of warn,
Children of gates In grass, apart guns afire, the wind is brighting beside
Bats, all the eletric radiation sleeps In a growing wave of bones in caves,
Faith in golden saints and pastors, ants and soldiers, a surface of a river
Is silver, deeping in wine, touching a pretty skin, a teen plays the character
Of Don Juan as a angel of deserts, flying together as a herd of eagles,
Deeping in lonely eyes, It's difficault to him, Robert is afraid to married,
Cause the church was with a deep smoke while they put waters in his head,
All right.. The College is not blind, our doctors had knowloudge to change
Flames in ice, we're hunters of lions, but the storms are wind as the night
                                                                                        And our mournings!