But one day the light of unwords Crept into their lair... A pale gaze, a shivering embrace And suddenly, the stake... the end... Vesmiah and Tyll Under the shroud, no aristocrats crown Once the torment of death was unleashed Upon the herald of their fate The word love will lie Lie to be born again, so I pray, On the pages of another autumn tale. Under the shroud, no aristocrats crown Words are born within the sleepwalking whispers They live in the satin rivers or unbridled winds And die by the scarred silence in the cruellest wasteland... Until the leaves rise again and the moon... And the moon looms over our dreams, when finally this autumn tale summons our hearts, bound to the mist... bound to the word love.
aristocrat, shroud, autumn, tyll, vesmiah