can fly But the dove is never free In painted skies that shade the color Of your dream When the nightmares ensue All that you can do is paint your sky
has somehow now enslaved her To a dream she though she wanted to come true Spread your wings you can fly But the dove is never free In painted skies that
and not sweet were the words they uttered. Until at last, with the armies poised to clash, and with dusk painting the sky a deep crimson exceeded in its
, the veins of the earth entrenched with the millions of dead. So few have my eyes seen in passing of glory. The aesthetics of death painted upon the
by, the veins of the earth entrenched with the millions of dead. So few have my eyes seen in passing of glory. The aesthetics of death painted upon the
