apisteuto auto me ton carol.mou eixan pesei ta autia otan to eixa dei.
apisteuto auto me ton carol.mou eixan pesei ta autia otan to eixa dei.
Remembrance of Things Past
I swarm deserted away, like glass...
Warm, and as fevers,
I am as flame.
I am death...
For I, I weave our blasphemies...
Wicthes painted me,
Like the mysteries created me...
Like where the poets breathe,
I were woven into blasphemies.