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Cryptik Howling
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Dead Trees
Wandering the unknown, licking broken hopes
Moves of nothing in the strain, for the strain is real
Pale faces turned backward and crosses upside down
Breathing the voidly ghosts, leaves faint into grey smokes
The autumn of the Soul, appealing colours
Bleeding the vainly boasts, fumes off the cans of hope
The winter of the flesh will make all as one
Sinister banks have swept the years, the sorry man will expire
Threads of fate burn twice, there is no hope, no illusion
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Blind and behind the light, faces of death foreshadowing the rests
Prey, observe silence, pray, witness silence
Lined up candles pointing at the sky, ever burning down to the last defeat
Wind whispering fears, plague sweeping, bleeding all the tears
Voluntarily deaf to the darkness
The sorry man knows no true taste
Dead trees, moves of nothing
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