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Rullbräh - text


I'm learning the anxiety of happiness,
it seemed deceitful long ago, but words of praise urge to birth
a harbinger of butterfly flight.

Glory of spite, delight of blood,
Happiness of happy - go luckiest and the forever mute,
of strong only in beauty and vulnerability
living in the sorrow of their souls.

I come across happiness
without looking for it,
lost in the bottom of bitterness
in the garden of faded flowers.

I'm listening to the whispering of voices,
about the blossomed solitude of abandoned eyes,
solitude agitates my heart.

[Rullbräh and Prophet:]
I will no longer, may be when I wake up...

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