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Stony path to deep forest,

woeful oak trees absorbed by

the darkest dark and echos of

mysterious past.

The legend of old wood is alive,

the legend of october bury.

Those distant times of woody crime,

cruel times of the second antychrist.

The wood is so silent now

he is hiding his dark mystery

deep and deep among the trees

not to know for us, mortals.

That mysteriousness is amazing here

like dark side of the moon.

Now I walk by paths of the past,

I'm passing wooden symbol of death,

I hear echos of shots,

I hear screams of the past,

I feel smell of past years and

I wonder... can it be true?