Legends speak of men, once drowned in the rivers. Whos shackled souls, use their wrath as tinder.
Land corrupted by festered biomass, transmogrified by hostile spirits. Lighting embers in the bog, flames that whisper in the fog.
Lights so bright they cloud the mind, coloring the emptiness. They lure one in with empty vows of solace for the soul.
The embers dance, manifesting the mires desire to let roots ensnare. To dissolve the flesh and imprison one's essence.
Legends speak of men, once drowned in the rivers. Whose rotting bones make one lust for cinder.
The only green, the scum of livid weed. Oozing thick over pitch-black waters. Taste the liquids of the bog, and you will never leave the fog.
Come closer. We have awaited thee, here at the bottom.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
