Dead vast forestsnCold ground where death threadsnThe blood of those who fellnBuried in a tomb of icenBeneath the forest of the deadnnThe trees stand black and silentnImmobile in the windnReaching out in blasphemynLike hands cursing the godsnnBeneath the forest of the deadnnThe roots still are growing, like serpents in the ground.nTwisting, turning, slowly without soundnnThe roots now are spreading, thriving on the deadnHungry, feeding on the lost mislednnSo our limbs lie spreadnIn the shadows of frozen woodnBut what is eternally deadnGives birth to blackened bloodnnBeneath the forest of the dead