Teksty:
Zao Psalm Of The City Of The Dead

As we wait here for a sign we are greeted by the end of time, these aren't streets paved with gold, you are my everything, my soul is growing cold

As we wait here for a sign we are greeted by the end of time, these aren't streets paved with gold, you are my everything, my soul is growing cold

As we wait here for a sign we are greeted by the end of time, these aren't streets paved with gold, you are my everything, my soul is growing cold