And there forever remains that change from G to Em

The nightingale is still locked in the cage 
The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs 
An old oak sheltering me from the blue 
Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves 

A catnap in the ghost town of my heart 
She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts 
Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the rude 
Raving harlequins, gigantic toys 

A song of mea song in need 
Of a courageous symphony 
A verse of mea verse in need 
Of a ppure-heart singing me to peace 

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying 
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing 

All that great heart lying still 
In silent suffering 
Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end 
What is left for encore 
Is the same old dead boy's song 
Sung in silence 
All that great heart lying still and slowly dying 
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing 

A midnight flight into Covington Woods 
A princess and a panther by m side 
These are Territories I live for 
I'd still give mt everything to love you more 

A silent symphony 
A hollow opus #1,2,3 

Sometimes the sky is piano black 
Piano black over cleansing waters 

Resting pipes, verse of bore 
Rusting keys without a door 

Sometimes the within is piano black 
Piano black over cleansing waters 

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying 
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing 

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street, 
with a begging bowl in his shaking hand. 
Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices. 
I do, but walk by. 

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic 
It's half-light and he's in tears. 
When he finally comes his eyes are cascading. 

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me. 
All pride has left his wild eyes. 
I wish I had my leg to spare. 

A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars. 
She's never loved him more. 

An obese girl enters an elevator with me. 
All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck. 
Terribly sweeet perfume deafens me. 
She's going to dinner alone. 
That makes her even more beautiful. 

I see a model's face on a brick wall. 
A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill. 
A city that worships flesh. 

The 1st thing I ever heard was a wandering 
man telling his story 
It was you, the grass under my bare feet 
The campfire in the dead of night 
The heavenly black of sky and sea 

It was us 
Roaming the rainy roads, combing the guilded beaches 
Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn 
Bathing in places no-one's seen before 
Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island 
Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe 

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature 
In early air of the dawn of life 
A sight to silence the heavens 

I want to travel where life travels, 
following its permanent lead 
Where the air tastes like snow music 
Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden 
I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture 
I would bathe in a world of sensation 
Love, goodness and simplicity 
(While violated and imprisoned by technology) 

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment 
I used to experience true love 
That love remains infintie, 
as I'll never be the man my father is 

How can you "just be yourself" 
when you don't know who you are? 
Stop saying "I know how you feel" 
How could anyone know how another feels? 

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar, 
whore, politician, wrongdoer? 
I am, you are, all of them already 

Dear child, stop working, go play 
Forget every rule 
There's no fear in a dream 

Is there a village inside this snowflake? 
a child aske me 
What's the colour of our lullaby? 

I've never bbeen so close to truth as then 
I touched its silver lining 

Death is the winner in any war 
Nothing noble in dying for your religion 
For your country 
For ideology, for faith 
For another man, yes 

Paper is dead without words 
Ink idle without a poem 
All the world dead without stories 
Without love and disarming beauty 

Careless realism costs souls 

Ever seen the Lord smile? 
All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man? 
Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks? 
Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is 
All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground 

I see all those empty cradles and wonder 
If man will never change 

I, too, wish to be a decent manboy but all I am 
Is smoke and mirrors 
Still given everything, may I be deserving 

And there forever remains that change from G to Em

"Song of myself" by Nightwish



Un buen año, sin muchas cosas relevantes pero genial a la vez. Solo eso


La mayoría de los días del año son corrientes. Comienzan y terminan sin permanecer en la memoria del tiempo. La mayoría de los días no afectan al curso de tu vida. El 23 de mayo fue miércoles.

Tom finalmente aprendió que no existen los milagros. No existe tal cosa llamada destino. Nada está destinado a ser. Él lo sabía. Estaba seguro de ello ahora.
-Mi nombre es Tom.
-Encantada de conocerte.
-Yo soy Autumn.