Fallen from grace 
My soul's grown old 
Birds are dying 
as fading light 
draws last mourning beam 
Across the hillside 

Dark moors lay cold 
And quiet this night 
Blackbirds crying 
As freezing moon lays cruel 
deathly beams 
Through your minds eye 

Elegy of what these open wounds 
may bleed 
All alone with hatred growing 
unborn seed