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Where ice crystals shine... On frozen cenotaphs of a forlorn kingdom...

Where the last raven flies across this endless

dismal landscape of snow and sorrow...

There it stands, the desolate throne of my winter kingdom of sorrow.

Built on the pyramid of the skulls of the weak and frozen into time

at the eclipse when the ashes of the world killed the sun.

The skeletal remains of the towers that clawed heaven

now stand like spectral branches in the horizon.

No laughter will be heard ever again, just the lamentation of a timeless snowfall.

No light shall flicker in the endless blizzard

that carves the wings of the forsaken throne.

A phantom of mourning dances around the

coffin of the macrocosm in endless barren sadness.

When all scriptures were swallowed by a majestic fire and reveries

were transformed to ashes, it was only silence that remained.

All is buried, and all is forgotten.

When the wings of the last raven fail, life ceases to be.

No one will remember the wolves... Only the fullmoon mourns it's brethren.

The winter of endless sorrow... The funeral of all life...