I Trädens Sang

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A net is now spun
So vast, spreaded, black
Coloured with the gleam of blood
Dipped in unholy juice

A song of birth, of beginning
Of desecrated brothers laughter
A song of sacrifice and the end of life
Of fire, pleaded in the land so weak

Yet there is a song I don’t sing
Its wordplay I don’t speak
Its words don’t pass my mouth
Now hear the rhymes in the trees’ leaves

There we stand in silence,
May their mouths whisper...

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