Curse
Dark and barren is the winter night. Shadows move along the tree line.
A life is cleansed in blood. Cleansed by these guilt hands.
Purged in a hollow soul. Scorched and punished.
At the harbor I waited. Kept an eye on the Baltic Sea.
Across these eastern waters a country of filth and dirt.
I damn this forsaken land. Still the moon is looming low.
Autor(es): Cult of Luna