Long echo in the spice of night
scale that weights our silence
palace of dolls dressed in dark past.
Memory lost in a slice of lemon
like a shard of broken sun light.
Moans of the excomunicated
that even the lord no longer hears ...
\'\'Forgive me father for I have sinned ! \'\'
The black women will go
to pray for the inconsolable souls
and then heat up the soup for the sons .
Protocol for shadows faithful to the oaths.
Men throw flowers of blood
in the name of eternity and the sacred .
Palermo\'s stillborn children
sign as the crucified passes by
before heading off to the harvest .
Tomorrow you\'ll be my widow
for such,is fate .
Palermo mute
Palermo pays its dept .
Freed from the damp catacombs of the living
I\'m not going back to the cold of the tomb
I\'d go wandering in the crypt of the mumies,
listen to the mass of the cursed
with the grimacing men of god .
And you\'ll turn away from their hollowed-out eyes.
You who love life as much we cherish death ...