A bell tolls in the midst of night
Small hamlets there now left by light
Darker mists blew over the legions of frost
And its humans lie slumbering
In rabid darkness lost

Like a time of greed is coming
With pale spindly hands
...mysteriis of this rapacious lands

Sharper sins winged the darker crafts
And eery screams of animalian tombs
Are carried through the wooden wombs
By cold bloodsquirting storms
...haunting...hunger...despair...

It let wristle this winds
Through their stretched human skins
And tentacles grow of dead mouldering soils

And the animalian bloodlust returned
Whizzing out the tangled forests
Towards a whiff of decay
And still death is ruling
From november to may

It is so bleak and rather pure
Or just unique a weird nature