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Dwell Beneath the Woods of Evil

de Xasthur

The forest is your grave
With a worthless meaning on your stone
(Thrones for the dead) are dwelling beneath the woods
Lingering souls, dead bodies never found
Dissonant shrieks in your mind, fear is all around
Old only grows and youth only withers
A hateful breeze collapsing all lungs and trees
Connected they are by a trance, a desolation within
The beauty of solitude as become alive,
becoming of a death more real
There must be hate in the grip of the frost
A path of crushed souls and breaking bones
Gateways into unseen deaths
Landscapes flood in lakes of tears and blood
Portals destined to be lost, are dwelling beneath the woods

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