A groan of dark wood throughout my daring soul Rides like a wild hunt and falls like mountain stream of thoughts A gloom that stole the soil emorisoned buried land inside itself Strangled in embrace of dusk without fresher gulp of life Its palms upon the tremor of the rind without a vile call of weakness and pain The better taste of blood and chill of death, the proud songs of wind Branches the lands of dead they seize its lead with fears Deah is not dreadful while you are young Or when being old you want to pass away Still his lands reak out for the stars searching for the Thread of Skjuld Be you the winged one your fate is not to for rot in grave But he spits poison afraid of his own shadow Sign of Enuy is a true stigma of egoism Always drunk of false optimism Death and vice its lesson it missed A call of madness a heap of misunderstandings Its morals and principle are left to rot in dirt One gathers mud he's living fast Smashing hands to blood from the senceless spite One stakes himself and throws a coin While staring at the gun one looks into her eyes One finds defence beneath worm's ominous star He feeds its blood to parasite poisoned buried in the dust of time And wind still howls against this silence he steals the weerings from the ancient woods When Lady Sorrow kiss the graveyards, she feeds the burial beast with the wine of blood And the devil still laughs and hisses greedy breaks his fangs in the malicious grins Replacing with daydreams the likeness of life for creature that feeds upon the lifes While someone is fighting the other is just spitting there are also the ones laughing at them both One losts himself in the search for passion another one shall bury his love in crypts of inmost fears Death with a Scythe would banish hope rip open a rotten soul with storms A desert demon shall die by drops of rain and feed the lost soul with its poisoned bloodTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
