What’s there in the void,
Except the call,
Of substance devoid,
To which the weak-spirited fall.
Everything seems to be alright,
On this side of paradise,
Here she brings the light,
Burning up my vice.
What’s there in the void,
Except the call,
Of substance devoid,
To which the weak-spirited fall.
Everything seems to be alright,
On this side of paradise,
Here she brings the light,
Burning up my vice.
