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The Owl And The Mist

They rode up to the river of blood

A resistance scene blows them to the mind

Where a father protected his children

They played in the trees

While their mother played the flute

For the first time they felt unprotected

For the first time to the end

It was wisdom against indiscernment

It was the owl and the mist

The trees cries... just like the moon

The mantle and the ether

Innocents smile succumbed

There is no more intensity on honor or solemnity

For the first time they felt unprotected

For the first time to the end

They do not want to taste peace anymore

They do not want to break the rules anymore

Attitude became something sick

All survivors suffers in silent

In silent

The wild was born to be free!