| We have stood for centuries
|
| Sentinels that frame the sky
|
| We have felt the exhalation
|
| Of souls passed under us
|
| We have trembled in the cold winds
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| That lash the soils of death
|
| We have drawn upon the poisoned strength
|
| Of earth steeped in sorrow
|
| Our limbs have twitched and quivered
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| To the sound of myriad snapping necks
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| Our roots remained anchored and unmoved
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| To the whispers of ending that clamour within
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| All now is silent and still
|
| Yet resting not are the echoes of the lost
|
| As twilight descends and the murders wheel to roost
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| The fallen rise again like mist
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| To drape once more from our arms
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| Like the rotting sails of a long-abandoned vessel
|
| The scars of time have reaved their pain not
|
| As the land sings its death-song again
|
| We have stood for centuries
|
| Sentinels that frame the sky
|
| We have drawn upon the poisoned strength
|
| Of earth steeped in sorrow
|
| A final threnody for a forlorn convoy
|
| That wanders, lost, in this bleak labyrinth
|
| Condemned to the aether beyond time
|
| A memorial pain unyielding that seeps into our souls |