| Across the muddy thicket, branches knitted and knotted
|
| Spirals of berries and thorns
|
| Where the dirty mud creek waters the underbrush
|
| Squires left the fields once lush
|
| A foreboding shuffling of hooves
|
| Resounded in the plain hushing the woods
|
| A pair of deer horns came to light
|
| From the dark of the wight
|
| Far away, gone astray to the boundaries of Dark
|
| When the Sky Vault paints no stars
|
| Disarray turned to grey in a night so chilled by ghosts
|
| You’re the guest he’ll be your host
|
| The antlers wearing ghost, riding his tragedy steed
|
| Dire is a sanctuary need
|
| He gallops with two diabolic dogs and crow
|
| Fire burns inside as a woe
|
| He saved the King but lost his skills
|
| Cursed and banned by a Sorcerer’s will
|
| Blamed as a thief and been disowned
|
| Hanged himself on an oak
|
| Far away, gone astray to the boundaries of Dark
|
| When the Sky Vault paints no stars
|
| Disarray turned to grey in a night so chilled by ghosts
|
| You’re the guest he’ll be your host
|
| Gathered round in a coven, invoking the gods in the depths of woods
|
| Or praying up to the Heavens, awaken to this fear of void
|
| Afraid of unknown illusion, you’ll be punished either bad or good
|
| Herne seeks for his vengeance, as all he loved was destroyed
|
| Far away, gone astray to the boundaries of Dark
|
| When the Sky Vault paints no stars
|
| Disarray turned to grey in a night so chilled by ghosts
|
| You’re the guest he’ll be your host
|
| Far away, gone astray to the boundaries of Dark
|
| When the Sky Vault paints no stars
|
| Disarray turned to grey in a night so chilled by ghosts
|
| You’re
|
| Across the muddy thicket, branches knitted and knotted
|
| Spirals of berries and thorns
|
| A foreboding shuffling of hooves
|
| Resounded in the plain and hushed all the woods |