The drums roll,
a patron spirit glides past a frosty forest.
At a dash underneath,
spit lakes, flowers and swarms of snowfall birds.
...
The gritty whited winged flapping sky,
bringing the feast,
of good dwellers and restful corpses.
wimping softly from exhaustion,
...
Going
The drums roll,
a patron spirit glides past a frosty forest.
At a dash underneath,
spit lakes, flowers and swarms of snowfall birds.
we hear a echo folding the night,
the chambers of towers ring.
Loud bells moan,
going astir in the wind.
Dying dirt in mure,
Sinks to the deep abyss,
a mantle piece falls all sound stops,
and the huntsman rests.