The
Horizon of the Solar Disk
While
the true Nile comes fron the underworld for Egypt,
Your rays suckle every meadow,
While you rise, they live, they grow for you.
You make the seasons on order to rear all that you have made,
The winter to cool them,
The heat that thay may taste you.
©2000
Lithomancy.
Lyrics by Michael.
Perfomed Live in 2000 - 2001