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The mist is grey and blankets the early morning fields.

The sun cannot break its chains

Rain begins to fall, thundering in the distance

I can hear the leaves, rustling and dripping

Clouds release their tears on the ravaged land

And fog fills the void, shrouding the low-lying hills

The rain will come

And quench the cursed ground

Reviving the soul of the earth

Something stirs within the woods,

Like a storm rising from the mist

My thoughts, clouded like the fog

And memories flash like lightning

The trees, they speak of the old storms

And whisper hidden truth

Like an overturned oak,

showing us its roots

Mystic Light inside the Darkness

Drowned by the rain,

amidst the flooded plains

I hear my soul

The only voice inside me,

It is the mists that shrouds the forests,

It is the storm that will cleanse me.