In this sinless city, we wear calluses on our hands From empty vain hand-shaking, we see the guilt has rise again And all will fall with or without our
we are, holding the hands of the severed And we both let go. The fire burns like cancer The scarring lasts forever We all play tricks for fools Who see us as their sinless
Tulkojums: Dead Poetic. Bez grēka City.
In this sinless city, we wear calluses on our hands. From empty, vain hand-shaking, we see the guilt has left again. And all will fall, with or without
