Winter beauty.
Frozen skin.
Snow white,
pale and expressionless.

Majestic eyes of the night.
Snow storms,
the flashing light in the sky.

The wind calls me.
Cradle of cracking dignity.

Rain of bloodshades flood the land,
want to paint it all red.

(...)

Alive it seems to be...
Alive it seems to be dead.

(Paradise frost. Winter palace throne.)
Gabrielle folds his icy wings over cut wrists of heavenly skies
(to avoid the shattering of symphonic dream poetry.)
Dusk in red, paint it all black!
Dawn in black, decorated dead!

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