[A brief commentary of Juraj Grezdo & Nela Horvathova: "The sloes are a symbol of bitterness. After eating them, your tongue shrivels and becomes insensitive for a while. Such is a mood of this song. Dreamy land full of snares and the threat hanging above it. Endless life journey".]
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A narrow path full of thorns.
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Carefully you lift your legs tired.
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So as not to be wounded.
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Green sky above your pensive head.
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It seems that perhaps it will rain.
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The sun vanished long ago.
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The end is not yet in sight.
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And you stray over and over again.
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Diamond swords in the crowns of trees.
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Glittering with their magnificent blades.
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They are falling down to your feet.
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A path covered with poisoned fruit.
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They are sour like all your life.
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This way could be perilous.
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Where the sloes mature.
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A sad bequest awaits you.
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Where the sour sloes mature.
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Your will is dying in you.
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Contours of hills in the distance.
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You are waving to them with a scarf.
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You have trod on the bad luck.
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A warm fluid will feed the ground.
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It will be drinking, so dry and thirsty.
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A potion that can donate a life.
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Where the sloes mature.
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A sad bequest awaits you.
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Where the sour sloes mature.
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Your will is dying in you.
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Just a red stream of your blood.
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Flows into the deepness of the chasm.
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Just a red stream of your blood.
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Feeds the dry and thirsty ground.
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Where the sloes mature.
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A sad bequest awaits you.
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Where the sour sloes mature.
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Your will is dying in you.
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Where The Sloes Mature
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Thalarion |