|
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 they legend claims |
|
Beneath the shadows of these branches, witches and heretics have burned |
|
The ground is dead and stained black with blood, the sorrow of centuries it bears |
|
No man, bird or beast dares to wander here |
|
Even during daylight hours darkness always seems to be near |
|
The soil is poisonous and swarming with snakes |
|
Oh, I tell you, it's a cursed place |
|
Here meet the pale and the dead, here the most coldhearted will dread |
|
The pale and the dead, ghosts from times long gone |
|
Relics of past dread, they walk beyond the sun |
|
When the night falls, the mist rises from the depths of the dead, cursed soil |
|
Damned, forgotten souls, centuries of old, wake from their cursed sleep of empty eternity |
|
The pale and the dead wretched souls that prey on living flesh |
|
The pale and the dead, souls unset, forever doomed to haunt |
|
The pale and the dead, beyond dawn and daylight the stalk |