What's left after all of this? After the last skull has been cracked?

After the last bone lies broken on a bed of leaves?

Pity those innocents that died for something that they loved greater than themselves

Pity those forested acres that laughed at these horrible times

We place our Book next to their spilled marrow and dream about what could have been

Now I know why the cartographer is damnеd

Now I know why we are slaves to this land

Now I bеlieve those visions that perverted young minds

Bond with the rot and let your blood clot

Dig our graves among those sullen roots

We shall never see the glow of the moon through the leaves, of a life outside these trees. These trespassers will die the same way as their lord

Bleeding, starved and deserving of more

At the end they'll pray for those times when sun could warm their skin and frost could cool those burning flames

The end is where we begin

We are better

We are one

Collected be damned

Needless and done