The forest is your grave With a worthless meaning on your stone (Thrones for the dead) are dwelling beneath the woods Lingering souls, dead bodies never found Dissonant shrieks in your mind, fear is all around Old only grows and youth only withers A hateful breeze collapsing all lungs and trees Connected they are by a trance, a desolation within The beauty of solitude as become alive, becoming of a death more real There must be hate in the grip of the frost A path of crushed souls and breaking bones Gateways into unseen deaths Landscapes flood in lakes of tears and blood Portals destined to be lost, are dwelling beneath the woods