Oakhelm - 3. As The Murder Flies

Enclaved in strongholds
Lightless
Broods a wraith not dead nor live
A restless spirit born of scorn
For which no salvation lies

[Curse 1]
Of molten anger lying still
Of burning bark to spite
Reclaim our stolen kingdom
Bring death to reclaim life

[Curse 2]
This human plague hath ridden
The wood of soul and light
A burden unforgiven
A sea of endless blight

Long ago a tyrant sieged the forest
Tearing holes both far and wide
Into this sylvan world of magick
Forever scarring the land and sky

[Curse 3]
Once taken thou shalt wither
Once touched by mother night
Existence will escape you all
As the murder flies

The tyrants army fell beneath Black feathered rites
Unleashed by the towering majesty
Misanthropic
From mountains their numbers
Stole the light

The few protesting the tyrants vision
Left through this perilous night
Drawn to the fire in the mountain
Misanthropic
To join with the earth
To give their lives

A sudden silence as the swarm
Returned to a shrine
Deep in the heart of the forest
Blessed in darkness
The land now cleansed
As the murder flies

No sound came from the village
No torchlight lit the night
A peaceful silence blessed the land
Without a human soul in sight

The wind sang for the mountain
Crows wings caressed the trees
The soil inhaled once again
The wood exhaled a chilling breeze