The cold breeze strokes the soil
joined by mist pursued by rain
blows as a call of the ancient wisdom
mist filled with tears of ages so old
from the days when the flowers grew
My courage disappear of what mind creates
spirits walk by my side, touching my hands
lead me onward, the direction of grief
to the forsaken, a soul covered by misty veil
behold, the mourning faces with scars so deep,
shine so pale
Mist filled with tears of ages so old
from the days when the flowers grew
With stakes in their hands
a symbol of what used to be
forlorn in the shade of the so called reality
......Forlorn As a Mist of Grief......
Their silent movements perform as flames
the gathering of these souls
which the fullmoon claims
Brings the shades together as a mist of grief
fills the space between the carved trunks
the columns of the everlasting thatch
hold the souls who perform as shades beyond mist
reaching hands out searching for something to grip
as eternal sleep of d**h out of their hands will slip
With stakes in their hands
a symbol of what used to be
forlorn in the shade of the so called reality
......Forlorn As a Mist of Grief......
Their sins in life brought them within these fears
never to see the light, it will never be in their sight
comes toward me, stands so spectral even paler
winds blow from behind, their children they will find