Escucha The Autumn of the Withered Roses (In the Bitterness of Our Souls Version) de Evadne

The Autumn of the Withered Roses (In the Bitterness of Our Souls Version)

Evadne

Death Metal/Black Metal

2

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RESUMEN

LETRAS

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Escucha Dethroned of Our Souls de Evadne

ALBUMDethroned of Our SoulsEvadne

Créditos

AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN

Evadne

Künstler:in

Jose Vicente Quilos Sanz

Jose Vicente Quilos Sanz

Bassgitarre

Joan Esmel Laguia

Joan Esmel Laguia

Schlagzeug

Alberto Conejero Ferrer

Alberto Conejero Ferrer

Stimme und Gesang

Jose Antonio Martín Rocher

Jose Antonio Martín Rocher

Gitarre

KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT

Jose Vicente Quilos Sanz

Jose Vicente Quilos Sanz

Komponist:in

Joan Esmel Laguia

Joan Esmel Laguia

Komponist:in

Alberto Conejero Ferrer

Alberto Conejero Ferrer

Texte

Jose Antonio Martín Rocher

Jose Antonio Martín Rocher

Komponist:in

Letras

The autumn comes, dies the summer

My garden is all what I have

A gathering of withered roses

A gathering to end my wreath

They are all my life, the happiness for my eyes

I'll never see again my flowers

You break my heart once again

Let my eyes without them, without nothing

You stole the smell of life, smell of dead

For a dream let again

All for me was your sight every day and every night

I wish you´d be with me always

You know, since I am alone

You are the only thing that plenty my heart

Now, at the threshold of my death

I feel sadness but's isn't for me…

Endlessly please remember me !

The autumn comes, dies the summer

I know my life is near to expire

Almighty came the autumn, impassive my die

They are all my life, the happiness for my eyes

I'll never see again my flowers

You break my heart once again

Let my eyes without them, without nothing

You stole the smell of life, smell of dead

For a dream let again

Sadness, despair for see my garden rotten

The last time, the last goodbye

My flowers, my Eden friends, I want to rest near you

Eternally

My flowers, my Eden friends one last thing I pray you

A wish for the next spring, let me grow together you

Rotten roses on my foot, I feel the incoming of dead

Is the time to my sleep, is the time to made my wreath

My last breath, your last scent, I feel the incoming of dead

Is the time for my sleep, is time for my eternal rest

Written by: Alberto Conejero Ferrer, Joan Esmel Laguia, Jose Antonio Martín Rocher, Jose Vicente Quilos Sanz