Sylosis

Where The Wolves Come To Die

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Far from the reaches of the scythe
Bone turns to ash and reignites
An ember within a coffin of emptiness
Sinks into the ground

From the open mouth of the river
To the deep heart of winter
A severed cord from the heart to the head
Where men fear to tread

Hidden from the world for all to hide
Where the wolves come to die

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Sylosis en Agosto