The silver moon and an old oak, alone below the freezing sky. A grey hill, burning candles and the deep tomb. The gallow and raven, like a rusty chain on the rotten coffin. Playing the melody sung by unseen. Old lonely and rotten village where houses fulfilled with whispers and dust, looms far away beyond in the fog. Abandoned old chapel – where bell gives a sound in memory of the fall. The cold cursed lake full of bones. Gathered by many years of pain sorrow and darkness. Landscape haunted by ghosts, fulfilled with grief. Tradition from centuries is dead but remembered in the whispered forbidden legends and a book written by time. The lonely old sage wearing the black coat. He stands on the shadowed mountain and spreads the tears like stars, guiding the darkest dreams of hate. And a forgotten cemetery where murky trees carrying cries and prayers to the cold black sky for salvation (for) of those who have gone deep in the howling wind. Those who wanted to revenge on the traitors of the white sun.