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Dec. 4, 2014 - The Golden One - Marcus Follin
05:01
Celtic Chest Session of the Gods

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Time Text
So here we are.
Plays have been enacted.
Empires have come and gone.
The mightiest have passed away and withered alike the least.
Fires have burnt a thousandfold.
Yet did not the Great Wing serenely continue its course.
Does not the blackbird still sing its song?
Does not the mistletoe still dwell in the oak's crown?
Forgotten what once has been told.
Veiled the words that once rang out.
Shroded like the lava in its cocoon.
Let him hear it who will.
Sprinkled by the droppings, the ferns make the island.
Blur on the soul place of my entering the form as well, parrot and taste of tale.
Reload off of your fear.
Jesus, you had to create an enemy's period to receive your absolution.
And something for excuse for referee to the tempest deep of your conqueror.
Behold, all of those out and fall.
We rebelled.
Replied truth inside forever.
We rebelled.
Martin with allegiance.
Was the crucial weapon of the villain?
But a feather hell in your hell.
Man and blood, you're coming to rule the firm.
All turing entered to the battlefield.
Mars is like drawing cars.
Evoking these merit fears.
As we're looking for, I smile a mighty vision while I die.
I turn the fire for so far wrong.
We hold all the road, thousands of tongue.
We replay the boy, to join forever.
We replay.
Behold, all the road thousands.
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