Through the winding forest where the bodies of disillusioned peasants
Lay in frozen
Catacombs, gothic oakwood may once again take it's real form and grasp
For your soul, as the
Night falls, green turns to
The colour which brings forth the eternal rest, reach forth and separate
The mystical branch
As the moon is surpassed
By a blanket of unholy cloud and echoed shrieks, ambience of the dark
Evolves from beyond
The divine nightshade,
Faraway from the forest, the souls of the dead travel beneath the earths
Soil to arrive at
The tree of life and death, now a
Disoriented monk banished from teh order finds solace within the cold
Surroundings of the
Untouched ground, the
Secrets are revealed to him, it is he who commands the living, the dead
- The dead
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