Where Hours Etch Their Name - Beheaded

Wind’s fingers caress the tips of corn fields

Howling gusts recount misery to Autumn leaves

Planes repose beneath immense necrose livid air

Like the chill that is sung deep from within

Deep from within the earth

Echoes from a soil, a witness

Of aeons drenched in sore

Murmuring whispers haunting

Spiralling voices enraging

Trepid dissonant chants cling

Perpetual unremmitting malady

With eyes sown afloat in a void

Lurking in hideous abodes

Cling to the depths of poverty

Perpetual unremmitting malady

Like the chill that is sung deep

Deep from down within the earth

The stones upon which hours etch their name

Roll and fall into abysmal depths

To meet the buried sea

To sink unread until the end of all time

Absorbed in the folding heaviness of silence

At one with the null

Morphed shades start taking shape into forms bizzarelly

Minsijin maz-zmien

Like the chill that is sung deep

Deep from down within the earth