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The old thrown house, gloom, the dirt, creaking floor boards...
Behind frames of the beaten out windows sing birds, heats the sun.
The warped handrail of a ladder on the second floor... The Inscription on the punched wall - " you Will be on the ground, come " as in a song.
Hole not an attic. No, not the hatch - a hole, a black, infernal failure in the rotten sky. Dead and cold plain with brilliant indifferent eyes of deities which hate day and hate people.
They go down for… Continue
Behind frames of the beaten out windows sing birds, heats the sun.
The warped handrail of a ladder on the second floor... The Inscription on the punched wall - " you Will be on the ground, come " as in a song.
Hole not an attic. No, not the hatch - a hole, a black, infernal failure in the rotten sky. Dead and cold plain with brilliant indifferent eyes of deities which hate day and hate people.
They go down for… Continue
Posted on September 10, 2009 at 2:04
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HOPE SEE YOU SOON.
TAKE CARE.
я только об этом мечтаю.....
меня Илья зовут=)) раз такое дело,поинтересуюсь,как те последний альбом их?)) мм?)
ivan_filth666@hotmail.com
CAMAN CRADLE OF FILTH
What do you hear in noise of the evening underground? I hear voices.
What do you hear in streams of a wind? I hear songs.
Many consider, that I say lies or I go mad. And I simply another's.