Autumn winds brought back the smell of rotten flesh
Across horizons ravens sing the hymns of decadence
Impaled believes, surounded by the absence of light
In this painfull paiting of decomposed existence
Deacy and death spread over the land
Leaving only sorrow and fright behind
In the tomb of souls, where the shaows are old
Under the crust, sculpures of blood
So old as the night, guarding the encaged hope