Lletres:
Wyrd Vargtimmen Pt 2

How chill is morning, how cold its melody. On a season of withering, when time stands still I listened and the wind spoke to me, I heard the woods

Still Holding on to a memory (of a dream) Clung to a ghost of the past, I am entangled in a maze (of the self) With no way out ...Alive Tired of

In the woods not far from here, stands an age old dead tree On a meadow once green, nothing grows now They used to hang people from this oak, or so