Years of Abalone

de ROME

Once we learned to speak we learned to fail
We turned white and cold
Like lovers

A frozen heart, a flaming sword, a thousand fathers dead
In solitude we bathe
Like lovers

Compromise!
Compromise! (dies ist keine richtung)
Compromise!
Compromise is not possible

In the hour of the wolf we learned to falter
In a tired dance
Like lovers (...)

And hidden gods wait and watch
The daughters of the land
In the purple fields of war

Like lovers

Compromise!
Compromise! (dies ist keine richtung)
Compromise!
Compromise is not possible

Dies ist keine richtung
Nur reine bewegung

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