| Wind’s fingers caress the tips of corn fields
|
| Howling gusts recount misery to Autumn leaves
|
| Planes repose beneath immense necrose livid air
|
| Like the chill that is sung deep from within
|
| Deep from within the earth
|
| Echoes from a soil, a witness
|
| Of aeons drenched in sore
|
| Murmuring whispers haunting
|
| Spiralling voices enraging
|
| Trepid dissonant chants cling
|
| Perpetual unremmitting malady
|
| With eyes sown afloat in a void
|
| Lurking in hideous abodes
|
| Cling to the depths of poverty
|
| Perpetual unremmitting malady
|
| Like the chill that is sung deep
|
| Deep from down within the earth
|
| The stones upon which hours etch their name
|
| Roll and fall into abysmal depths
|
| To meet the buried sea
|
| To sink unread until the end of all time
|
| Absorbed in the folding heaviness of silence
|
| At one with the null
|
| Morphed shades start taking shape into forms bizzarelly
|
| Minsijin maz-zmien
|
| Like the chill that is sung deep
|
| Deep from down within the earth |