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Upon these holy grounds from whence you came

No longer a place of light, but of death

There is darkness from a century of winter

Once that was bright is now dark

Bleak, frostbitten winds desolate

Landscapes of the great dead wood

Grim and grey are the brooding skies

No sun can penetrate everlasting storms

Solemn are these times of reformation

A slow downward drift into the abyss

Sorrow and damnation ever present

The profound absence of internal light

Nothingness is all you find in this place

The end has begun, the time is nigh

In these final moments none shall remain