These Grey Ornaments Of Your Apocalypse — Horizon 8

Poisonous dust Draws on wet glass Grey ornaments They are transforming to A dreadful picture of an apocalypse

Of your apocalypse

And I see Terrible grimaces of lords of destruction Agony of creatures Burning in the crimson flame That is the future

I do not want my own dreams To become the reality Cause all this simply seems to me

I can’t predict what waits for us tomorrow But I want you to understand I can’t predict what waits for us tomorrow I can’t be silent when I see another’s pain

Everything passed And the picture of reality is destroyed And I see Lifeless desert and the black line of horizon

One more step One more sigh One more chance to try to rethink all