[маленький засранец]

Where forest stream went through the wood

And silent all the stens there stood

Of tall trees, moveless, hanging dark

With mottled shadows on on their bark



As faint as deepest sleeper's breath

An echo came as cold as death

Long are the paths, of shadow made

Where no foot's print is ever laid





No moon is there, no voice, no sound

Of beating heart; a sigh profound



Once in each age as each age dies

Alone is heard. Far, far it lies,



The Land of Waiting where the Dead sit,

In their thought's shadow, by no moon lit





Upon the plain, there rushed forth and high

Shadows at the dead of night and mirrored in the skies



Far far away beyong might of day

And there lay the land of dead of mortal cold decay

@музыка: Summoning

Comments

[Алисаман]

чо за фигня?