theatre of - teksty piosenek, wg trafności (od zawsze) - Teksciory.pl

On whom the moon does shine - Theatre of Tragedy

"O soft embalmer of ye still midnight, Allow me thee to adown Of an sort thou fancieth; Each holdeth its own fancy, I say - Yet the pleasure we partake in Was caus'd by the fang'd grin, Save!, do I for"

To these words i beheld no tongue - Theatre of Tragedy

"Whether the thrond Monarch weareth the crown, Which I know not whether to his belongeth; Doth he hence the sceptre sway? Seasoneth he justice? Daresay I he doth not, Will he then use his sceptre as a wand?"

On Whom The Moon Doth Shine - Theatre of Tragedy

""O soft embalmer of ye still midnight, Allow me thee to adown, Of any sort thou fancieth; Each holdeth its own fancy, I say - Yet the pleasure we partake in Was caus'd by the fang'd grin, Save!, do I for"

Ashes and dreams - Theatre of Tragedy

"Everyone else speaks in a droneRound and round into the unknownAfternoon sun filters out through smokeThe hum of factories quietly revokedTouch of elationPanicked insidePraying for silence, our lives all"

Exile - Theatre of Tragedy

"Synchronise the flow of intersectionsCatalogue all still heartbeatsFranchise the machinations ofThe bourgeois-fangled reverieGleaming in flamboyancyResign to solid chromeOhmic opposition is futileAnd impedes"

A rose for the dead - Theatre of Tragedy

"Albeit, daresay I, the lullaby of an everso dark sleep. R: My precious, Likest thou what emergeth yon the distant? The throbbing and breathing of life's machinery! LK: Wanion its oh so damndest soul! With"

A Roe For The Dead - Theatre of Tragedy

"oh - my dearest; the sweet music in the ear - albeit, daresay I, the lullaby of an everso dark sleep. my precious, likest thou what emergeth yon the distant? the throbbing and breathing of life's machinery!"

Cassandra - Theatre of Tragedy

"He gave to her, yet tenfold claim'd in return - She hath no life but the one he for her wrought; Proffer'd to her his wauking heart - she turn'd it down, Riposted with a tell-tale lore of lies and scorn."

Conquistador - Theatre of Hate

"For race, color, and creed we swept the world Tribe upon tribe, each a new trail of tears Staggering down the centuries A world to seed Oh, conquistador The path of glory crushed peasants in their fields White"

Eastworld - Theatre of Hate

"I am the seed planted by the river I am the straw who broke the camels back Eastworld, Eastworld, no world I am the soldier who cleared the wall I am the pole who will sing and be heard Eastworld, Eastworld,"

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