The forest is your grave / With a worthless meaning on your stone / (Thrones for the dead) are dwelling beneath the woods / Lingering souls, dead bodies never found / Dissonant shrieks in your mind, fear is all around / Old only grows and youth only withers / hateful breeze collapsing all lungs and trees / Connected they are by a trance, a desolation within / The beauty of solitude as [bad word] alive, / [bad word] of a death more real / There must be hate in the grip of the frost / path of [bad word] souls and breaking bones / Gateways into unseen deaths / Landscapes flood in lakes of tears and blood / Portals destined to be lost, are dwelling beneath the woods