'Mong birch, among cliffs whispers shadow of moan.
Snowy owl stirs in its glacial home.
Witnesses the sacrifice, how two become one:
hands upon the shaft, final twist and all gone.
Cries echo; in the skies a dance of northern lights.
Bright fires in the eyes of her that's left to fight.
Dry, freezing cold, the air that takes her ghost up high.
Sharp, strangling, the garrotte 'round an iron heart.
Years pass and words fade of The Filth In The Snow.
Every guilty gets settled and children all grow.
Comes to be that a son sneaks away from his 'stead,
and returned by three knocks is his golden-locked head.
Cries echo; in the skies a dance of northern lights.
Bright fires in the eyes of her that's left to fight.
Dry, freezing cold, the air that takes her ghost up high.
Sharp, strangling, the garrote 'round an iron heart.
Lights flicker and die.
Parts end where they lie.
Touched, wearing the mark,
tombs yawn in the dark.
Reaper's night
in emerald light;
steps go among flurries white.
Walls painted in life:
bold patterns of strife.
Winds holler and whine;
boot shatters a spine.
Hear the cries
to emerald skies
from mount where the raven flies.
Fear the night
in emerald light
where steps go among flurries white.
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