(Sigh)
~~~~~~
In dire places, there is distrust,
where the bulwark, fall to dust,
like the igni, seething blood,
wondering if the sky is only for birds.

I see sentinels on the watch,
are they standing alive?
or are they just corpse?

Lost isn't the winter, it is the spring,
so I sigh a tale... that I can't sing.

Inhaling the shrivelled pieces of skin in the air,
the situations' confined in grims and the dares,
I see the sky covered in flares,
I see the sky covered in flares...

I see liege, quelling disease,
and their his dogs, providing relief,
the priests' vision is swevene,
it's pushing us away from reality.

The untamed masses,
wexen and grow,
here the shepherd
isn't the host.

The cries I hear...are really dim,
so I sigh a tale...that I can't sing...

The days, they pass,
skies still the same,
all I can envision
is adorned with greys.

This soil, this land
and the trees,
I wonder what they whisper
in the breeze.

When I dig the ground, there's no gold I pick,
deep inside, I see the scattered bones so thick,
I see some broken ribs and limbs,
so I sigh a tale...that I can't sing...
( I sigh a tale that I can't sing... )
~~~~~
(Sigh)

© Imagine