The Harvestry of Ghosts lyrics

Grim nor gale shall hinder clove or heather Ghouls nor satyr partakes goblets and gold fount Years have I longed for pleasant times From the harvestry of your heart Cursed am I to be nurtured by The hollow of ghosts haunting realm He who seeks shall find her Gifts more fine than silver Memory the crowning deed of torment Sifts it sickle with the roar of giants