Adrift in the Sepulchral Snow
Embers of the sun drenched by my eyes
I feed on my hatred for the light
(Yet) my sempiternal tears I would not douse
Silent was the scream crossing my blue lips

I cursed this feeble shell of mine
Dreaming over the coldest hills
How could I ever join the hunt
A mortal stone around my neck

When the forest choked on my frozen self
No axe would ever chip my flesh away

Others would soon follow and wage my war
But tjose were of the kind breathing the Art
I would remain untouched, martyr of a new age
A morbid monument to their greater glory

Solid tears fled from my eyes
My limbs torn by the north frost