I sit here in this place so old,
Uncaring, Haunted, Numbed by the cold.
Here in the deepest of these groves,
Skeletons from my past coming in droves.

They haunt my steps, they haunt my life,
They fill me with turmoil, bring nothing but strife,
The whispers, why, they are so loud,
They roar over the storm, over the clouds.

The wind whips by as lightning strikes,
But Fate can do whatever he likes.
I've stopped caring, stopped bothering.
I no longer care what happens to me.

It's been so long, the hour is late,
My body does shiver and my teeth do grate,
My bones grow damp and my mind grows numb,
Here in this place, under Sorrow's Thumb.

I think of the ground, of the plants and the trees.
I think of that which once brought joy to me.
Someday perhaps, I'll be at one with Her again,
Perhaps when I'm lying dead in the glen.

For then, I will be truly be at peace,
For then, the whispers will truly cease,
For then, blissful silence will reign,
For then, I can say farewell to my pain.

But alas, time flies, the hour is late,
My body does shiver and my teeth do grate,
My bones grow damp and my mind grows numb,
Here in this place, under Sorrow's thumb.

I've lain here for days, as the vines o'ertake me,
As the pain in my heart threatens to wake me,
But I lie here knowing that someday I'll wake,
And this time it won't be full of heartache.

For then, I will be truly be at peace,
For then, the whispers will truly cease,
For then, blissful silence will reign,
For then, I can say farewell to my pain.

As long as I lay here, I listen to Her,
The noises around me, time naught but a blur,
The sounds of Nature, so wholesome, so pure,
The hours slip by, lost to Her allure.

Knowing that I cannot go on,
Knowing that I can no longer stand strong,
Knowing that fate has brought me to this,
Knowing that I'll finally find my bliss,

Knowing that now, the hour is late,
My body does shiver and my teeth do grate,
My bones grow damp and my mind grows numb,
Here in this place, under Sorrow's thumb.

My heartbeat grows slower, my breathing less rapid,
My link growing weaker to a life become vapid.
I close my eyes and I utter my last phrase,
"I'm coming, my dear." And o'er my eyes glaze,

So now, I will be truly be at peace,
And now, the whispers will truly cease,
And now, blissful silence will reign,
And now, I can say farewell to my pain.

Having passed now, the hour grown late,
My body does not shiver and my teeth do not grate,
My bones have grown cold and my mind has gone numb,
But at last I am out from under Sorrow's Thumb.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Valnuary, in the year 713 AF.