歌词
The texture of the soul is a liquid,
That casts a vermillion flood.
From a wound carved as an oath,
It fills the river bank a sanguine fog.
These arms were meant to be lost,
Hacked, severed and forgotten.
The texture of time is a whisper,
That echoes across the flood.
Its hymn resonates from tree to tree,
Through every sullen bough it sings.
These boughs were said to be lost,
Torn, unearthed and broken.
♪
Earth to flesh, flesh to wood,
Cast these limbs into the water.
Flesh to wood, wood to stone,
Cast this stone into the water.