Desperate Measures

Your measures are beeing desperate

Each pray to morpheu always unfinished...

Not even dream wants you more.

Each sweet word what drills like blade

Your ears bleed and you lower the head

They are dyed lies redden in black cloth.

Four horsemen ride despair to our meeting

Our days will reach the end... And I have to say goodbye

I will cover my face in mourning for the defeat... There lay.

I was only in a battle and I cannot divert the way

I cannot challenge any more the inocense

My weeping is a howl to the skies without moon...

I need these eleven final minutes for me

My wings don't exist and much less then fly...

They always go so high...

And you here, below my knees with sad eyes

A hand hiding the face and a heart exposed...

Your measures, love, are always desperate.