Текст (слова) песни: Midwinter - Lords Of Creation

[music & lyrics: Andreas Funke]

Caress sweetly my instrument
When words can only fail,
Elicit naive notes from it
When clouds form to prevail
And fever shakes my burning heart
More fragile than it seems.
I raise my will to save my breast
A Phoenix-life again to lead.

Hark to the world from a different angle
As far too few are able to,
At least its no big price to pay
To see - not even you.
For you were helpless innocent
And youll stay for all your time,
You might reach the natural border,
I will build a further line.

Gathered round the fear that makes us strong -
Freedom!
Summoned to fulfil the human role -
To grow!

Hordes of dread
Leave your throne.
Were the Lords of creation,
Human gods on our own!

A symphony
Carved in stone
Of bold, artistic glamour
Shall mark my home.

So scorn the dull, uncultured mob
Sticking on its seat
And satisfied with empty rubbish -
Ridiculous to me!

I caress my instrument...
Другие песни Midwinter:

Dreamscape Revelations
Dying In Vain
Evoking The Grotesque
Existence Means Suffering
Golden Age
Lords Of Creation
Realm Of Slumber
Stormclouds
The Essence