The Secret Of Secrets Is Inside Me

All That I Am Hangs By A Thread Tonight

And It Seemed To Me That There Were Fires Flying Till Dawn Without Number And I Never Found Out Things-those Strange Eyes Of His-what Colour? Everything Trembling And Singing And Were You My Enemy Or My Friend, Winter Was It Or Summer?

Real Tenderness Can't Be Confused, It's Quiet And Can't Be Heard.

It Is Unbearably Painful For The Soul To Love Silently.

The Stars Of Death Stood Over Us. And Russia, Guiltless, Beloved, Writhed Under The Crunch Of Bloodstained Boots, Under The Wheels Of Black Marias.