At the fork road,
The old symphonies lay rotten.
An ode to the wailing of none.
Hushed whispers of old breeze,
Resounded the path,
Like the bloody water drowning the sun.
Bleed step by step.
Howl, but donât make a noise.
âTwas the silent moon.
At the fork road,
The old symphonies lay rotten.
An ode to the wailing of none.
Hushed whispers of old breeze,
Resounded the path,
Like the bloody water drowning the sun.
Bleed step by step.
Howl, but donât make a noise.
âTwas the silent moon.