Fields Of Sunset (Days Of The Scythe)

I walk down a cemetery
At the edge of the wind
A dusty brown raincoat
Maybe grey
A sanctuary with scraped walls...
Dried nests forever empty
I walk along the place
Of the inexistent depressing eyes
Destroyed domes
The carelessness of my house
Master of ruins
Only of them can I sing the praises
For the great splendour of death
Death's angels...
Breath of wind
Lamb of God

Springtime sends its watering sun into these bounded lands
From windows nobody is looking through anymore
Nobody. No more. Nobody is here any longer
Gathering left memories
Wandering among the sick fields at sunset...

And the last money spent for pictures...
And crying
While the air turns into pink
And the daisy remains in your hands so small
Not even beautiful
You live far away from human beings
And from time to time you appear
Among them