Cruel Black Dead

Old Wainds

Compositor: Old Wainds

Plague-sided sword
Deforms dance of the dead
All living things waste away
Under this ruthless hand

Whirling in dance,
In ragged and grubby gowns,
Cruel Mor, black death/black and lifeless
Reaps all life

Through sounds of the night,
Chant of prayer gets louder,
Amid stone ruins,
Each time colder,blacker.

A black sacrificial stone,
Covered with bloody saga,
Remembers weeping and groans,
Each time colder,stronger.

In layers of the Polar night,
In viscid ethers of anger.
In the middle of the centre of shining,
Of it's black guillet

Blood as a herald of death
Blood raises the dead