Shaken by the winter sound, the village of martyrs arose,
Leaving their caskets behind, they walked the path of restitution,
Christening the night, the stars withered behind the snowy clouds,
Suffocated skin shredded down to saturate the soul,
Amnesiac pile of bones marking their presence into the white soil,
Empty rhythms echoed, troubled spirits finding their quiescence.
Snow covered stones obscuring their true identity,
Chasing broken leaves in the wind, they walked frantically,
For the search was not over, but the dawn hasted its approach,
Tiny pearl of red shone, evident to merely one,
For his blood finally called his shredded skin and broken bones,
As he finally rested in his own casket underneath the blood bearing rose.
Leaving their caskets behind, they walked the path of restitution,
Christening the night, the stars withered behind the snowy clouds,
Suffocated skin shredded down to saturate the soul,
Amnesiac pile of bones marking their presence into the white soil,
Empty rhythms echoed, troubled spirits finding their quiescence.
Snow covered stones obscuring their true identity,
Chasing broken leaves in the wind, they walked frantically,
For the search was not over, but the dawn hasted its approach,
Tiny pearl of red shone, evident to merely one,
For his blood finally called his shredded skin and broken bones,
As he finally rested in his own casket underneath the blood bearing rose.
