Lost in the forest, in a distant place where goodness has no strength. In the arms of dark, tired and alone I'm walking the path to the unknown. Under the legs roots of age-old trees are trying to show the right way. This perfect illusion surely means death. The sadness rules this forgotten empire desolate and inaccessible. No man can survive the infernal curse of inhuman creation imposed upon forest which will swallow up whatever alive that has stepped into this cruel land. ...And death is near! Now is remaining only foreboding that moment of break. When sleeping devil opens his dozing eyes. The useless effort to suppress disagreeable feeling that someone's eyes are watching the confused motion. Calls out unhopelessness in the earth. Blood is flowing down scarred hands. It's trickling slowly to emptiness. Mind is realising that it isn't able to prevent from the slow dying in everlasting pain.
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