...shouts of an impure heart...
CARUS, UBI ES? POSTERUS, UBI ES?
Where is the air?
Where are the feelings?
I breath lonelyness.
Violent touch.
Or gentle breeze?
Everything is around but not inside.
Only you are inside, but still not around.
Heart.
Venustas, ubi es?
Carus, ubi es?
I don't seem to breath...
Posterus, ubi es?
On a lonely road of past, how to find you?
Only a song, Lacrima of my heart...
*this song is pretty cruel and hard to understand. it's about a virgin, pure girl who ends up raped, and while some old guy is trying to rape her, she pounds a knife in his stomach. you don't have to read it, you know?...*
VANESSA VIRGINITY
her lips-red as blood
her eyes-blue as sky
her skin-white as snow
her hair-black as coal
her hands-precious as a bless
her breasts-sweet as cherries
her body-melodic as a kiss
her heart-pure as virginity.
but after they met...
where is her smile?
where is her pureness?
why is she so tuneless?
Cruelity and Vanity
Pain, sweet as sins
dead maids all around
and she in the middle, half alive
what is life, if you're not there?
what am I, if you're far away?
You promissed you'd build me castles
castles of pure diamonds
castles just for me and you.
then you kissed the crimison and fell forever.
what else could I do?
amused, lost in your arms,
like a lonely rose
with a harmful thorn.
Your blood all over the pure white snow,
your blood all over the blissfull magic,
your blood up in the sky,
your blood all over mine.
Her first sin,
his last waltz,
and a trace
velvet rose and a wine, red as her lips.
Wherefore art thou, Vanessa?
NiNGYou
well I'm still in search for myself
even your touch makes the distance
so far
too far.
with this old razor which seems unhurtful
not sharp enough for the glass skin
I cut
without a trace.
for those who doubt if I am a human
I can only hopefully say from my heart
let's just pray
I am.
don't you even sometimes wonder
if you're human too?
what is the color of the shade?
what is the shape of the water?
how do you feel?
now, in this moment
do you know that what you feel
is your own bliss?
your own will?
what are emotions if they aren't yourself?
what are you if you aren't emotions?
what am I
if I don't feel you now,
if I don't feel your touch,
if I don't feel this light
and this dark that fills us inside?
what are we?
what are we made of?
maybe honey?
maybe steal?
and then, when we discover
that we are just dolls,
just standing in line and waiting for our master,
some spoiled, cruel brat,
to put us on a shelf
and forget,
that's when we'll realize
that we were made to wait,
only to eternaly wait,
set in a line,
to feed on dust and dark
...eternaly and forever...
...because we're just dolls...
