Текст: Cemetery Of Scream. Fin De Siecle. Insincere.

I see the past days in front of me
Longin' for something that has passed
Askin' about the future
Hidden deep outside the world
Insincere in my own intentions
I found it inside of me
It's been waiting for its new moon
To live in my eyes
The instant
Bitter like some bile
Burning
Burning like a wound
Each simple day's over
Pickin' up the flowers
Over the TV-set
To project the eyes
With bare hands
Run' way from the pain
In a world of a dream
Thrown into a whirl of reality
Lips are so fervent
Stars are so distant
Each simple gesture
Lookin' in each other's eyes
Touching' the hands
I can tell: