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The slow pulse of the earth

Is the rhythm of sorrow and tragedies

It plays in my morbid soul

As an ancient tome resurrects itself

With fear I hear them whisper

Turning from the eyes of the forest

What malice gives solace

To the dwellers of the damp wood

I leap from one stone to another

And resound with each light touch

And the cursed wind of death

Approaches from all directions

Only rotten breeze wanders

In this valley of desolation

No man may find heart

In these netherworld footsteps

No beast may enter

Without The Master's consent