Elis (English Version) Songtext / Lyric

Elis, if the blackbird calls in the dark wood,
this is your decline.
Your lips drink the cold of the blue spring. Let, when your brow bleeds silently,
ancient legends
and dark interpretation of bird's fly. But you're going to the night with soft steps,
rich and full of purple grapes.
Hanging of the arms so sweet in the blue.

A thorny bush sounds,
where your moony eyes are.
Oh, how long since Elis, you are dead!

[Chorus (2x):]

On your temples drips black dew,
the last gold of the plain stars.

Your body is a hyacinth,
in which a monk dips his waxen fingers.
A black hollow is our silence.

But of which a mild
animal comes from time to time
and shuts its heavy eyelids slowly.

[Chorus (3x):]

On your temples drips black dew,
the last gold of the plain stars.