*Voice of the Mother*
Look at the sky and its floating stars
That glitter like fever in eyes of a child.
Nails in a coffin are hammered now, thus
The dawn sky’s a burial ground: gray and mild.
In face of the Sun they're forgotten and vanished
Unable to merge into bright guiding lights.
Don’t wait for the crossroads to show up, the pun is:
The path between you is no road - but the sides.
Note: all constellations are drawn by the mortal
Except for the one which the Sun gives an order -
The true shape of yours - the shadow. It’s woven
With all of your passions which are nearly burning.
*Chorus*
Why’ve they decided to put themselves in the fly-by-night small kind of fire -
The everlast smoldering but rapidly gnawing on your mind and body don’t forget the soul.
And I imagine how they will find out they’ve become completely deaf and blind
Due they haven’t seen the light that might have brought life to their obstacled minds.
*Voice of the Father*
The sun lits your path that is already distinct
From quicksand and moors of ills and attempts
To reach their Olympus. You're safe due your instincts,
Like a moth you're looking for the biggest lamp.
But if it will set on the East so it never
Just seems to rise up and to shine on your back,
So, shall you become your own brash leader
Or shall you become a lamb 'mong the pack?
Not all constellations are drawn by the mortal…
Forget you the one which the Sun gives an order.
The true shape of yours is defiance, it’s woven
With all of your passions which are nearly burning.
*Chorus*
Why they’ve decided to lend themselves to the most unreliable kind of fire
That they can’t control, can’t neither explain nor glance on without a harm for eyes.
And I imagine how they will find out they’ve become completely deaf and blind
Due they haven’t seen the light that might have brought life to their obstacled minds.