Bones like barren branches, flesh sunk to dust. Breath chokes the chest, the belly's blade-twist. Mind adrift …
Bones like barren branches, flesh sunk to dust.
Breath chokes the chest, the belly's blade-twist.
Mind adrift in fog, nape blazing with cursed fire —
Muscles stripped from frame, eyes sunk in mire.
When the True Pulse glows, a soul's last ember,
He who sees no face, meets death's December.
He who still knows men? Wait for the season's turn —
Where the conquering wind blows, the final candle burns.