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lyrics
Well, we fight our fears in such odd ways.
As withered flowers, our lives rot against the hours.
We're nothing but time: we rise and we decay.
Empty prairies filled with the sounds of the prayers
of those who soon will be ashes in the air.
supported by 22 fans who also own “Withered flowers”
On the final track I was finishing the part in Call of Cthulhu where Johansen’s strange and horrific journey to R’lyeh is being recalled. It’s described as an ancient cyclopean city of non Euclidean geometry that no human could build. Angles and perspectives are constantly shifting. I think it fits perfectly with the final track that mentions the Fata Morgana. Dionysus Virus
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