What we talked about were and plague and war

What we talked about were and plague and war,
They soared on wings, they rose from the ocean floor,
We watched that dreadful world, without blinking eyes,
We knew that we were shaped for such dark and gloomy skies.

In kaleidoscopic fragments, in roaring storms that tear,
The history's shell is cracking, its sharp edges wound the air,
But what we kept silent about still shines with a gentle light deep
In music and quiet sorrow, it flares up and doesn't let me sleep.