English Version
gothique et romantique

Cursed lovers

Publié le 29 Oct 2013

romantisch, gothique, romantique, gotisch, rêve, fantastique, fantastisch, sombre, dunkel, traum, romántico, gótico, soñado, oscuro, fantástico, romantico, gotico, sognato, scuro, fantastico, porte, eau, pierres, , eau, see, mer, cimetière, croix, poème d’amour, lettre d’amour, roman gothique, poème romantique, lettre romantique, poème gothique, gothique et romantique, larme, église gothique, mélancolique, mélancolie, nuit, night, dark, sombre, memories, souvenirs, melancoly

On the wall of our redemption the roses of the lapse of memory fade. Just dormant. Of a dull torpor which did not deaden. The terror of our errors. Phantoms closer to the evil than of the good. Wandering on the moor equipped with the tinsels of our uglinesses. Circling in the dance sinks of the malignant one. With which us so often held the hand. By force, bravado, hatred, without possibility of backings. Leaving behind us, fire and blood like single will. We are these cursed lovers. Playing of the fear. On the piano of our furies. According to the partition of the life and death. With the rod of the Master throwing a fate. With those which think of lying us before dying. Divine power. Who led us towards this remote world. Where we lost ourselves. Some. To be higher than all forms of truth. Naked. Making confusion of our directions wood our rough-hew. We buried ourselves. In intoxication to flee. Since it is necessary to perishing. We knew it. Avoiding looking at us retaining our feelings.By preciously preserving this last drop of passion. To pour it at the ultimate time. Where caught up with by time. Nailed by the judgment sanctioning our mistakes. Manufacturing the torment equipping our last artifice. Amalgamating our glances before starting. We sheltered behind the stones of our memories. Refusing to die. Leaving with our bodies the right to release a last sigh. For once again lying. With those which enjoyed to fade us. Free now we can run. On the moor and the peat. Our cheating laughter. Wandering between the day and the night. Cursed lovers. Who will have neither fall, nor shelter. Whose memory lives the nightmares preventing from sleeping. Dancing under the storm and the rain. With an animal rage. Our infernal saraband. In the middle of the flashes. With this mystery. Of our tender passion. One for the other on the wall of our redemption fade the roses of the lapse of memory. Just dormant. Of a dull torpor which did not deaden. The terror of our errors.

le sang de la nuit, la naissance de l'ange, decouvrez le dernier roman de steffan urell

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