Rullbrh : I'm learning the anxiety of happiness,
it seemed deceitful long ago, but words of praise urge to birth
a harbinger of butterfly flight.
Rullbrh : Glory of spite, delight of blood,
Happiness of happy - go luckies
and the forever mute,
of strong only in beauty and vulnerability
living in the sorrow of their souls.
Propeth : I come acorss happiness
without looking for it,
lost in the bottom of bitterness
in the garden of faded flowers.
Rullbrh : I'm listening to the whispering of voices,
about the blossomed solitude of anandoned eyes,
solitude agitates my heart.
Rullbrh and Prophet : I will no
longer, may be when I wake up . . .