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Artiste:
Immedia
Titre:
Fades
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
CORRECT: avant la correspondant ligne correcte
Autrement, nous ne pouvons les corriger pas! Merci pour votre aide.
Reflecting marble to your sigh. You put your head back to the sky. To feel this cold tonight, could be, to do all but die. In inner scenes, this precious stream, To carry all within this dream To my head. And every line each sanctified in building time, Fades to red. Fades to red. And now the night behind your form, Once bitter ice had seemed so warm. And now the light begins to pull, And tear my mind Out through my soul. So dare I call this precious wretch to lose the stitch and seize the catch, To find what I can only dream all taking form as I had said, And every bone in hollow form beneath the skin that can't be torn, By prying eyes of those unknown with questions that have come and gone. Come and gone. So dare I call this precious wretch to lose the stitch and seize the catch, To find what I can only dream all taking form as I had said, And every bone in hollow form beneath the skin that can't be torn, Had ricocheted to join the form of chaos born to drive the mad. If not for your soul, then what do you hold? If not for the time we have so cold. You prayed for the dawn To cover your eyes, But the light could never wash away the years, Or why. And so in your heart, unlike in your head, Intensities drown in an unfamiliar bed. Now if for a shot, In seeing the end, A pulse to a stop says you haven't a friend. If not for your soul. If not for your soul, then what do you hold? If not for the time we have so cold. You prayed for the dawn To cover your eyes, But the light could never wash away the years, Or why. And so in your heart, unlike in your head, Intensities drown in an unfamiliar bed. Now if for a shot, In seeing the end, A pulse to a stop says you haven't a friend. If not for your soul, then what do you hold? If not for the time we have so cold. You prayed for the dawn To cover your eyes, But the light could never wash away the years, Or why. And so in your heart, unlike in your head, Intensities drown in an unfamiliar bed. Now if for a shot, In skin stripping wind, A pulse to a stop says you haven't a friend. You haven't a friend. You haven't a friend.