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An unmarked stone rests upon a hill

the shallow graves dug in haste

not meant to keep carrion birds at bay

from the forest, wolves smell the meat

their eyes glow in the autumn mist

bearing their fangs, they encroach upon the shrine

he steals away into the dusk

cloaked in shadows

the phantom pains take their toll

he's paralyzed by fear

following the scent of blood

a clearing breaks in his view:

three stakes, to each one lashed

a carcass split in two

six hollow eyes stare

a rictus beckons near

the corpse speaks, "a rain will follow,

the waning days are here"

the chorus begins

seventeen score rise

encircling the pyre

one moves as all

the pupil of the night

dances with the bones

the three are gathered close now

he smells their charred flesh

as they dig into his skin

his dry lips part

from between crooked teeth

a hollow cry escapes

Under a stone

beneath the waves

hidden in trees

the dead kingdom fades

alone

the dead return to dust

cradle born

and slain in bloody lust

waiting to grow

and retake the claim

40 years will

rue the day

parasite

gnaws with boney teeth

phantom limb

weaves a bloody wreath