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Borgne
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Only the Dead Can Be Heard
Smell of death, creatures from a distant world
Dark territory, all become dark
Gloomy landscape, smell of putrefaction
World of the night, decadent existence
Only the dead can be heard
Their cries through out souls
We are all already dead
Covert communications, looking for a sign of beyond
Our minds do not understand death, our minds do not hear
Shout the dead's music, looking for anything because I'm nowhere
I have always pain and nothing will change
What a horrible feeling that you're not actually here
You are not useful, but you believe again
Because hope makes you alive, hope makes you die
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I hurt all over, I cannot sleep
I am not hungry either thirsty
I want to destroy everything, invading everything
That is the war in my head everyday
This is my world, my life
Only the dead can be heard
Their cries through our souls
We are already dead
What a horrible feeling that you're actually here
You are useful, but you don't believe again
Because hope makes you die, hope makes me die
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