Withered Be The Flower

Long Past It's Prime And Bloom

Forgotten On The Stony Bed

This Silent Hillside Tomb

For Coppered Be The Grip

Of This Wooded Land

A Crude Cold Gauntlet

Hides The Boney Hand



Tears Once Warmed The Ground

Torn Out Of Eyes That Could Cry No More

Compassion For The Wind To Take

O Doth Pity The Bastard Poor

A Life Of Misery And Hate

Upon A Chance A Twist Of Fate

The Poison From The Goblet Ran

Down The Throat Of Her Drunken Man