Could the witches break up the curses? I can’t bear it any more. I drowned in a tub full of blood And my hands couldn’t be washed up Breathing, suffocating Screaming and roaring Stormy seas and wild wind drove me away Hit the cliffs and blow the walls Red moon and black raven killed my life Dye the night and swallow the light Far away, Far away Far away, Far away Far away, Far away Far away, Far away
May the forest stop your steps? I’d rather choose the death. Please help me cut off my bloody hands Coz they always pull me to the hell Breathing, suffocating Screaming, roaring Stormy seas and wild wind drove me away Hit the cliffs and blow the walls Red moon and black raven killed my life Dye the night and swallow the light Far away, Far away Far away, Far away Far away, Far away Far away, Far away
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.” My time is coming.
Could the witches break up the curses? I can’t bear it any more. I drowned in a tub full of blood And my hands couldn’t be washed up Breathing, suffocating Screaming and roaring Stormy seas and wild wind drove me away Hit the cliffs and blow the walls Red moon and black raven killed my life Dye the night and swallow the light Far away, Far away Far away, Far away Far away, Far away Far away, Far away
May the forest stop your steps? I’d rather choose the death. Please help me cut off my bloody hands Coz they always pull me to the hell Breathing, suffocating Screaming, roaring Stormy seas and wild wind drove me away Hit the cliffs and blow the walls Red moon and black raven killed my life Dye the night and swallow the light Far away, Far away Far away, Far away Far away, Far away Far away, Far away
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon stage And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing.” My time is coming.
