a place, where time stands still
it's like a painting, dusty and ill
from the eyes of the raven, ghostly pictures are shown
colourless, torn asunder

there are rifts on my road, eventually it collapses
a key to the door that leads to this desolate place is
cancelled consert of a heart

in here, the trees hang low
cold breeze, sets sun to slumber
the last rays of the dying sun, overwhelming desolation

melodramatic tone echoes below the gathering mist
chains of betrayal hold me to the ground

beneath six feet of dirt, lie these statues that never sleep
i can hear the sound of black sky raping the autumn soil...

...with snow

in here, the trees hang low
cold breeze, sets sun to slumber
the last rays of the dying sun, overwhelming desolation

from the eyes of the mourner, wintry pictures are shown
pale, torn and icebound