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 / A hateful breeze collapsing all lungs and trees / Connected they are by a trance, a desolation within / The beauty of solitude as become alive, / becoming of a death more real / There must be hate in the grip of the frost / A path of crushed 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