Literature
Icy death of forest cold
Icy death of forest cold
Sun is descending on the sky,
And I gaze it with fierce eyes,
Never sharing its warmth with me,
So I return to ever-dwelling mist.
I curse the world around me,
That leaving me with my fantasies,
I loathe the life before me,
That blooming sick blasphemy.
I hate.
Never forgive.
My world is an icy paradise,
A dead realm of boreal landscape,
Cold as starlight on northern sky,
Like the frost-bitten misty haze,
Empty as my morbid pale eyes,
Like my bitter soul of hate.
Mountains of old
Forests of cold
I wander in dark eternally,
With snow and ice my companion,
Where ever I lurk and crawl,
O