Legend

The whispering night. Tracks in the snow. Crossing the threshold Of what we all know. Crimson immortal Elysian fields. Stems of good fortunes They've been reaping for years. Seek words of wisdom, Spurning the lore Weavers of fate Have cast on the shore. We seek lives of holiness, And finding nothing in its place. The grace of the gods. A fire gone out On the banks of the lands, Once so firmly devout. A wringing of hands. Facing the dark, Hollow, and dead, What we know in our hearts. Seek words of wisdom, Spurning the lore Weavers of fate Have cast on the shore. We seek lives of holiness, And finding nothing in its place.