before time had flown over ghost-misted stones
It was vowed and it knelt to the free

but it learned to resist
and began to exist
and it grew to a feared enemy

on the frightning last stair
in the ash scented air
Where the last man should find ecstasy

When sun faded to gold
which decayed into mould
i gave in to the salt of the sea

unholy and warm
I was praying forlorn
to be given a knife or a key

time gave none but now
there’s a wound on my brow
where he cut a new eye to foresee

washed up on the shore
and deprived of their lore
they bid farewell to their sacred trees

both courage and lust
fell from fire to dust
and their holders wept long on their knees

Lids burnt to ashes fell apart from the useless eye
Leafs fallen from the heathen’s heart in his silent cry

Drunk on the aether of the night trees turned into cold stones
Marking the grave that keeps inside dreams instead of bones

Mourning the charmed trees of our past blooming nevermore
Pressed by a throne empty and vast grieving for our lore

Thirsty for void and filled with lust raving on the shore
Dissatisfied and left to rust while night came back for more