The Blood of the land appeals to the sky. And rebelled the fallen herb. To light stretching the branches. Framing sun circle.
In empty eyelet of sulphur person. Without expression has frozen the grief. Without reflection, in the shrouds. Dead persons pulled the hands to the sky.
And they went carrying weak somewhere by That voice that raised them from graves. And further, further as though an army, Insensible shades moving ahead.
Without feeling, memories and awe. Without pain, tears and resurrection. By trail of death they go on execution Losing minds, being unforgiven.
The Blood has frozen in vein from disgust. At the sight of crowds of living dead. And in panic people running silent. Like dark shroud was the fallen sky.