Fini - Cold In Our Hearts II

It would be well for every mortal
If nothing more were known of their lives
It would be greater to imagine death
Than what they infuse into their life 

It would be futile to change the structure
They were nothing more than an imagination,
A thought, a wisp of energy
A soul without form, as we know

Their success, as brilliant as unexpected
Were nothing but conventions of an ignorant past
A thought, a wisp of energy,
A soul without form, as we know

It would be tiring to witness negligence
When repetition is yet inevitable
Their work, from which they desire to be excluded
Were nothing but a hopeless attempt of attainment 

Their attempts to belong into places and people
Where they don’t even exist
Their endless regrets from the past
Are now formless and shapeless

Their regrets suspended from the past
All become futile, sees no point in anything
Their belief in rare sculptors of values
Is still an open field of which is yielding clay

It would be fitted into a frame forever
If nothing stopped (them) from recollecting their past 
It would be well for every mortal
If nothing more were known of their lives

Is there something more divine
Hiding in them all? Is there more?
Their success, as brilliant as unexpected
Were nothing but conventions of an ignorant past

A thought, a wisp of energy
A soul without form, as we know

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There is a place in their hearts
That will never be filled
Forever to be filled
But only a space 

An attempt of hope
To restructure  
Are only memories
That ache and agonise

The kindness of all
Which they await in desire 
Were only sorrow
That pursues to eternity 

As if they’ve seen everything, but there was nothing wrong
Their heartening thoughts, hover like fog
To escape the desolation, is ones’ agitation
Which stings more, each long deafening day

The pathetic and frigid, their fate painted with death
The trumpet never fail to wake them, for a saviour, so weak Открыть страницу с текстом