In the middle of the night there is a small voice calling,
A soft whisper from life, that soul is withering,
Death Song is sung with a hymn of putrid filth,
Playing troubled symphony for the dawn of the Renaissance.
Vultures flying about dreams shattered and lifeless,
While the black crow is horrible smiles hide,
Wings of agony spread the threat of a horrible end,
Prohibit the warmth of the spirit to penetrate and repair.
Four solid walls witnessed the lament of a fortress
The fall down and the explosion of a mess depressed
Like the statue of a cherub above the tomb undisturbed
Pray for the soul heavy to be free and be saved!
Piercing words and looks are as deadly club,
From a disappointed expectation of a refusal of blood
If the heart can not hear all these smashing infringement,
Then your mind will not be guilty of a missed court.
Alas! Last night I died a painful death and rust,
But today, I live again to stand and fight,
Tomorrow will be my moment of pride and Growth
To end this disruptive barriers paradise dead ...
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