Flowers of a brutal calling

We are flowers of brutal calling
marooned on an island of sin
punishable by death of the heart
in a 19th century holocaust that tore us apart
wrapped in scarves, scars, tattoos and drunken friends,
we scared our minds,
in amusement arcades for the insane.
Oh well love falls down, romance lies in ruin,
you can walk through memories in your dreams,
but you can never erase those horrible scenes,
the price of pain is way above my head.
Flowers of brutal calling it’s sad.
Flying solo back to reality,
under the flag of the lost,
like wild horses on gallions fuelled by lust
and this world sleeps under a cloud of fate,
today the skies are clear,
it removes some of my doubt.

Tyla (1990)
Taken from "Cynosure Part One"