Cookies help us deliver this site and services. By using this site and our services, you agree to our use of cookies.
Got it

Red Tainted Sky

Album: Efflorescentia
By:
Ezekiel

Duration

11:41

Genres

Metal

Description

The third song in the "Red Series".

show more...

Lyrics

When the rose awakes the next time, He finds that the vine above him, Has become black and old, Much like his roots, Have I killed you, The rose asks the vine, No, the vine replies, Your roots have not turned to liquid, As you wish them to, Yet I am dying nonetheless, I have grown fat on the others’ dreams, And yours as well, I must confess, For you have had many while you sleep there, In your rot, And in my gluttony, I have overgrown, Thinking that the other plants would never stop dreaming, Oh, but your dreams, little rose, Have become very few, And I can no longer nourish my long branches with them, The irony is great that my secret, Would be its own weakness and death, Not unlike your own, At least I will die, And not become like you, You pitiful rose, And maybe you will even begin, To remember your dreams again, The rose looks around, And it seems that all the vegetation, Is filled with sorrow, For some reason, The rose begins to feel the sorrow, Even inside himself, And, too weak to fight it, He lets it overtake him, The rose does not remember his dreams, But wakes up again as the vine is dying, Thank you, poor rose, Says the vine, For your dreams, The ones you have just dreamed, Give me the strength to face my death, You are truly beautiful, I am so glad to be a part of you, Then the vine dies, And the rose can finally see the sun again, And it seems that all the other plants, Have become sick like the vine, This time the rose dreams wonderfully, He dreams of his sun and his sand, And of something that confuses him: He dreams of the vine, Stretched out across all the world, When he awakes, All the plants around him have turned to dirt, The dirt is enough to cover up, The rose’s old roots, And the rose thinks, He has finally done something right, The rose can barely enjoy the fresh dirt, however, When it starts to blow away in the wind, And the rose remembers that it was the wind, That had blown away his sand, And unearthed his roots, All that time ago, I hate you as well, Says the rose, For you steal everything I enjoy from me, Even when I have so little, Go away and do not come back, If you will listen to me, The wind stops then, To the rose’s surprise, But with it, All the new soil and dirt is gone, Without it, the rose starts to dry out, From the beating sun, Soon the world is a desert again, The rose is finally alone again, But he is dry and brittle and weak, And every time he awakes, He wishes he could talk to someone, To voice his anger and frustration, And sadness, What a fool I was, Says the rose to no one, Now, because my wish came true, I am drying out in this desert, How did I ever think, That I could survive in the heat, At least, in the lush world, I could complain, And have my complaints heard, Now I am broken and alone, The rose tries to speak to the sun, To get it to shine somewhere else, But it doesn’t answer him, At night he tries to talk to the moon, But it is silent, Even the clouds do not listen to him, As they withhold their waters, Finally, the rose desperately cries aloud, For anyone who can hear, And is dismayed when a voice he did not expect, Is the one to answer him: A voice in the wind, Why are you crying aloud, Asks the voice in the wind, And why do you complain, You have your sun and your desert, Isn’t that all you ever wanted, It was all I wanted, Says the rose, When I was a young fool, Before my dreams could mature, But I have come to see, That even in my early days, My roots were black, And I was never truly strong, And now that the cursed vine is gone, I can remember my dreams, Which have matured, And I know, They are of a time far better than this, And far better than any time I have ever known, But it seems that every time, I try to fulfill my dreams, You, wind, are in the way, Why do you persist, In destroying me, I have done you no harm, And you make me wish that I died, When I tried to, Underneath the vine, Ah, but you did not die for a reason, Says the voice in the wind, For it would have been a waste, Of your beauty to come, It would have been the destruction, Of the ancient plans to prosper you, That are still in place,

© Amazing Media Group 2007-2024
About | Cookies & Privacy