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Theatre Of Tragedy - On Whom The Moon Doth Shine

на свой мобильный!
Отправь SMS с текстом 55788-119-1938 на номер 5537.

Предложение действительно для Российских операторов.

"O soft embalmer of ye still midnight,
Allow me thee to adown,
Of any sort thou fancieth;
Each holdeth its own fancy, I say -
Yet the pleasure we partake in
Was caus`d by the fang`d grin,
Save!, do I for him anger hold?
Nay - I knew I was fey!"
"Had I what it taketh I would do;
I sense - I cannot sense,
I am - yet! I am not -
Once I kiss`d the image
Of the Seven Angels of Death..."
"Yet as thou so didst,
On my lips a kiss landйd,
And with the shadows blendйd
The tendermost silken mourn;
In which the light hidden is -
Yon Hell`s brazen doors
Wrothfully it trieth to push."
"Then, lo! the Black Death,
Serpent-like `twixt the breasts crept;
Hush`d with a gasp of life`s breath,
"Hush`d with a gasp of life`s breath,
Together red tears they wept,
Together red tears we wept - in vain,
And pass`d the procession of dancers dead -
And pass`d the procession of dancers dead -
As in darkness were we lock`d in wed."
As in darkness were we lock`d in wed;
I kiss`d the Seven Angels of Death."
"And Hell open`d its doors,
Yet what was `fore my eyes
"Yet what was `fore my eyes
But if not the brightest light."
But if not the brightest light."

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