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In the woods not far from here, stands an age old dead tree |
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On a meadow once green, nothing grows now |
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They used to hang people from this oak, or so they legend claims |
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Beneath the shadows of these branches, witches and heretics have burned |
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The ground is dead and stained black with blood, the sorrow of centuries it bears |
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No man, bird or beast dares to wander here |
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Even during daylight hours darkness always seems to be near |
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The soil is poisonous and swarming with snakes |
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Oh, I tell you, it's a cursed place |
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Here meet the pale and the dead, here the most coldhearted will dread |
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The pale and the dead, ghosts from times long gone |
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Relics of past dread, they walk beyond the sun |
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When the night falls, the mist rises from the depths of the dead, cursed soil |
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Damned, forgotten souls, centuries of old, wake from their cursed sleep of empty eternity |
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The pale and the dead wretched souls that prey on living flesh |
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The pale and the dead, souls unset, forever doomed to haunt |
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The pale and the dead, beyond dawn and daylight the stalk |
