Around the bend and over the hill
Sit a handful of tombstones alone
On the edge of the wandering woods

Covered in moss fragile and ancient
No names grace those stone slabs
During the height of the day

Come the night of a crescent moon though
Something glitters across their surfaces
Inscriptions in characters no longer spoken

The mere sight of the glyphs
Fills any onlooker with a deep sorrow
As if a spell lays over the headstones

To communicate into distant ages
The pain that was once felt there
On the edge of those ancient woods

Where the moon shines brightest