The Fallen Leaves tell a tale
In a forgotten battlefield of saints and sinners
Kings and Queens of blinding eyes and stolen dreams
Leaving behind hollows and misbegotten to simmer
They left behind a legacy —
A canvas of wintry fog and wind blowing forth blood
Misbegotten families in sorrow
For the blasphemous treachery upon them was sprung.
Can you hear them?
The whispers,
The tears
and the groans of sorrow?
In the absence of their kindling flames,
Is there no hope for tomorrow.
Yet fallen leaves drift along with the blood in the wind.
They call upon us to rise;
To avenge the downtrodden, the massacred and pillaged.
If by blood they were stricken,
then by blood they will be avenged.
The sands of fate have spoken,
Their judgment upon cruel royalty written.
They will not escape the shadow of vengeance
Nor the justice that the blood spilled cries out for.
While they hide, dine and wine upon their alabaster cathedral,
The Storm arrives— with its Lord and all who follow.
