A noi spetta rimirare il sole nel cielo interiore, nel Firmamentum. / Siamo stagioni di carne regolate da cicli di speranza e disperazione, da
abisso e luce. / Martire o dio, alba sarà. / Aria Oblio Aria Aria / Non è più piceo, non è più, no.
We're entitled to gaze to the sun in the interior sky. in the Firmamentum. / We're season of flesh, regulated by cycles of hope and despair.
by abyss and light. / Martyr or god, dawn will be. / Air, oblivion, / Air, Air. / It's not pitch black anymore, not anymore. no.
supported by 10 fans who also own “Stagioni Di Carne”
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