Fighting my way through the tempest
The claws of the wind tear my face and my
flesh
Fighting my will as I struggle uphill
Chilling my mind, my faith I
contest.
My frozen wounds must be thawed
I must not turn back or yield
My
blood melts the frostbitten ground
I march with no shelter or shield.
The
path before me is blind
The onslaught of hail and snow
The mist that fills
vision and mind
Is no barrier from rocks far below
This sword blade of stone
is my path
With darkness and death either side
My cloak pulled tight to my
eyes
As nature and Gaia collide.
I meet my mortality as i stride through
the shining darkness
I hear voices high and cold as they ring with a terrible
beauty
The voices of men would be Gods, who lay broken on their existence
The
Mother of all tends their bones which will wash to the winds and the
seas.
As I struggle through thunder and storm, my life on the edge of a
knife
I find the will to march on, a virtue of man often lost to the
sands
Those who don't fight, and concede, who lay down to that which takes
hold over life.
Will not see as I see, feel the light through the trees, or
hear the world over howling gale. |
