In the maturescence of time,
the callous heavens will descend
and coat everything in pearls.
The sea will become useless,
the blood on your bed bathetic.
Who will we be without our sins,
washed white as winter?
In the maturescence of time,
the callous heavens will descend
and coat everything in pearls.
The sea will become useless,
the blood on your bed bathetic.
Who will we be without our sins,
washed white as winter?
Miniature Moon 