The effigy, laden with strange malice,
Collects its face from amidst the trees,
Fashioning crude doll from old ceremony.
And it seems, as if stolen from dream,
To possess the countenance of ancestral steam.
The effigy, laden with strange malice,
Collects its face from amidst the trees,
Fashioning crude doll from old ceremony.
And it seems, as if stolen from dream,
To possess the countenance of ancestral steam.
