• Lying silent on the plain of death,
    split hollows across the thin line.
    Saying goodbye to ones last breath,
    destroyed that life that was once mine.

    Forgotten memories all the same,
    but yet still quite different.
    To bring forth new found fame,
    we must become soon silent.

    The wind which talks in hushed whispers,
    to tell the tale about a greater sound.
    Can use that great powers,
    that it once had found.

    And here lying dead,
    upon the icy shore.
    we can not march ahead,
    and we can not ask for more.