| Song | Sirens In Filth |
| Artist | Novembre |
| Album | Dreams D´azur |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Orlando | |
| Bitterness blows in the heart | |
| Like chilly draughts in the hall | |
| Of a crystal castle | |
| Lost among clouds made of gold | |
| Those anxieting visions | |
| Images behind frozen windows | |
| Make my eyes bleed | |
| Ebony blood | |
| When the silvergray fluid shall crack reality's walls | |
| Mixing with blood and filth as sirens swimming in pitch | |
| When the sweet arcades of these desperate our owns | |
| Trickle down upon yhe misery of this dead everyday life | |
| Like pitch on your wings | |
| Like a child lost in a war | |
| Like dark paint upon a shiny picture | |
| Like dirty sperm on a toy | |
| And whwn the new star will shine of its own black | |
| And there will be nowhere to shelter | |
| Maybe they'll understand who we are | |
| What we'll always cry for |
| zuo qu : Orlando | |
| Bitterness blows in the heart | |
| Like chilly draughts in the hall | |
| Of a crystal castle | |
| Lost among clouds made of gold | |
| Those anxieting visions | |
| Images behind frozen windows | |
| Make my eyes bleed | |
| Ebony blood | |
| When the silvergray fluid shall crack reality' s walls | |
| Mixing with blood and filth as sirens swimming in pitch | |
| When the sweet arcades of these desperate our owns | |
| Trickle down upon yhe misery of this dead everyday life | |
| Like pitch on your wings | |
| Like a child lost in a war | |
| Like dark paint upon a shiny picture | |
| Like dirty sperm on a toy | |
| And whwn the new star will shine of its own black | |
| And there will be nowhere to shelter | |
| Maybe they' ll understand who we are | |
| What we' ll always cry for |
| zuò qǔ : Orlando | |
| Bitterness blows in the heart | |
| Like chilly draughts in the hall | |
| Of a crystal castle | |
| Lost among clouds made of gold | |
| Those anxieting visions | |
| Images behind frozen windows | |
| Make my eyes bleed | |
| Ebony blood | |
| When the silvergray fluid shall crack reality' s walls | |
| Mixing with blood and filth as sirens swimming in pitch | |
| When the sweet arcades of these desperate our owns | |
| Trickle down upon yhe misery of this dead everyday life | |
| Like pitch on your wings | |
| Like a child lost in a war | |
| Like dark paint upon a shiny picture | |
| Like dirty sperm on a toy | |
| And whwn the new star will shine of its own black | |
| And there will be nowhere to shelter | |
| Maybe they' ll understand who we are | |
| What we' ll always cry for |