Cult of the Winter Winds

Where not light nor warmth exist In desolate forest old Nor reprieve from the gusting winds And the biting bitter cold Not love nor life is there here In this isolated keep Where grief devours the heart of man And lulls hope back to sleep Where not even anger Can light the flame inside To illuminate the heart In which his hate resides Where there is only numbing Brought about by winter's wrath In solitary suffering On this forlorn winter path The numbing of the body And the silencing of mind The loss of all sensation The marching of the blind Upon this path he treads alone To answer the northern call As winter's hand sweeps across And brings death to us all To a barren land of snow and ice Far from the love of man To rest his bones and spirit now As death sweeps through the land