The Bled - Spitshine Sonata

I lost my voice in the fire. I burned my eyes staring at your eclipse. I was
just a child. My father's favorite. Such delicate arms keep reaching toward
the horizon. As we keep starving for this beauty we are sick with distance.
Grieving for his failure. We are sick with distance. Starving for this beauty.
You keep me on my knees mummified in your arms. This is the last chance that
you will get to breathe my name into his chest. Only the deaf find peace. Only
the blind won't reach.