The return of the wintry dream is the tree wich the forest hide but the valley is dark and it reborns in thousands falls
When the circle was mine the spring faded in my name
Someone will try to explain you this but you won´t understand nothing A burrow isn´t more than a link with the greyish elegy of the wetlands isn´t more than the absence of light in the eyes whom we leave back In my immortal kingdom cold the storm will guide ours battles towards the abyss
The blood of our tragic memories will brand a dark passage of sorrow in the stony memorial of the shelvings The black swamp that watches my death symbolizes our past The lie summarizes my existence but not my kingdom
Now the last moon of October project her rage in our arms From the deepest of my grave the cruelty of the perpetual winter in the density of the forest
Nobody will hear never the agonized melody of the river near the forgotten willow
Untill the end of our age Epic Pagan Times
The fury of the oceans will go over the path of the ancients bards