Testi musica canzoni

Rejoice, rejoice a noble birth, a prince is born.

Behold the birth of violence, beasts of fang and
feather cry for our concrete rapture,

and if we beg to be put down, unto us the most
inspired storm.

A princess ravaged by her prince behold; the
birth of sex and distance, two frail corpses both
were they, his eyes were the first to stray...
every tree held fast the earth to sky.

Concrete replaces every branch and twig as they
were frayed upon the birth of ambition. The
heavens filled our gilded vessel with poison
tears, before we drink, I propose a toast, a
final prayer.

Here's to the watchers in the wood, here's to the
last days, unto us a most inspired song.

Shaper, stop the music.

Halt the harp strings whose chords confuse our
histories with textures.

With the disheartened chorus of a hymnal whose
choir is the conviction of the starving, artless,
tempted by the feast of proof that this body of
work has worth.

Uncertain as the fingering of a chord torn
prematurely from a piano's womb.

As we fill our precious lungs with concrete, that
faithful shade, a shaper's song is stopped short-
a dying breath a singing shore.

Then the only movement and the last remains of
grace:

Pollen falling off the simple hinge joint leg
upon the final breath of a dragonfly.

A cardinal, lost but headstrong in mid flight
cries for our concrete rapture, wade...

in the water, wade. Let the flood swell, thank
the storm for her tears.

The faithful say its beautiful, its god's will

but the fool knows what the prophets have seen,
no salvation's impending.

The faithful say its beautiful, its god's will
let the flood swell and the bodies that break
we'll just float down the river. Stay tame, soft
river, while we weigh our faith, stay sweet, run
softly, sweet river, the fool who wades in doubt
will float like concrete.

Come and fill your lungs. Come and fill your
lungs.

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy,
its the same shade as concrete.

The faithful say its beautiful, its god's will,
let the flood swell

on the loudspeaker sermons and a parish
descending.

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy,
its the same shade as concrete.

Let the flood swell.