Lletres: Ved Buens Ende. You, That May Wither.

A distant cry...
From what I perished for?
No....
It was born...
The winterburden.
I bled its tears once...
Oh, if only it could wither,
wither in the absence of my thoughts.

So I cry...

I cry, not only for my spirit in its living shell.
But for the ones who brought the lust through me...