For too long I've kneeled in the tragedy of this forest floor.
My barren skin, representing the ages of perceived insignificance.
I'd ask this sacred to give me my strength, if only once more
Before I forget who I am and become yet another agent of pestilence.
The truth is revealing itself, and we are in the aftergloom.
Like prey, we're endlessly approaching the darkest of funeral moons.
The preachers promise us blissful, eternal life after death
Yet they cherish nothing of Earth in the very same breath.
Every step further is a step walking on eminent fields of grief.
I pray the spirits to take me away, peacefully, to the golden sleep.
My last hope for man is to ask forgiveness for all they've sinned
Before the light takes us, and we feel the last sigh of the funeral wind.