Like a driven snow the ghost appears
Upon a winter’s squall
Within the clouds the spirits wail
Awaiting the thunder’s call
Lighting strikes into an Ash
As her decaying leaves but fall
The winds howl of a sacred tune
Lost inside the delicate light
of the dying moon
Vapors trails of fire and hail
Turn into chasms where darkness dwells
A black rain descends onto the scorched earth
As Man just mumbles his final curse
