The trees have come to a standstill
The crows and the ravens watch over the field
Nothing dares make a sound, out of fear of being revealed
A mist rises from the ****** soil

A funeral pyre stands tall
Made out of the spears and shields of the fallen
The remains of several families that have been destroyed
Oh how the gods must be overjoyed

Twelve preacher boys
All stood in a ring
Around the pyre
Longing for dusk

Once the sun had ducked behind the horizon
One boy stepped forward
He cast a torch into the pyre
The lost can only be freed by the fire