My seven cycles: |
Welcome, o distant land's noble guest,
Allow me now to take you to rest...
Powerless hands of fiery sand,
Voices of dead from every land...
Like a gentle giant of fine marble,
Dark magic permeates this place...
When the garden of death withers in hues of all,
And the screams of dryads fill the starry sky...
You can never hate your homeland.You can hate those people who turned it like that at the most. |
Those who don't know the right way,experience love to its fullest. |
The dead can be loved,too.Sometimes even more,than the living. |