Desolation کے بول

The fields etch a pattern upon the ethereal plains As the wind holds the land in a lovers embrace Earthen vessel all I carry is emptiness I wander these fields day and night blur into a single reflection a silent lake of atrophied thoughts Moonlight challenges me to appraise myself and my fate is mimicked by the seasons always repeating, though winter waxeth like the moon alone forever echoing forward into eternal insurmountable aeons sealing my fate before i can scream. I cease and the fields taste the scythe of finality