Silent whispers floating on the breeze,
Carried on the sent of a midnight rose.

Celestial Gods watch down apon this grove,
As our weapons we silently rise . . . together.

Back to back we watch the stars forever.
The sound of silence fills my ears.

The clank of armour brings forth my fears.
As white robed healers come forth screamin'!

Preaching zealots, shouting out in praise, here in,
Saying words of men killed by them for their plight.

The only true prophets of the light,
Were always murdered by the church and its crones.

Their teachings engraved apon their bloody bones.
Pricked till bleeding by an untold number of swords.

But the Church will always twist their words,
Tern them round into what they want them to be.

From their Heroes that they executed to protect you and me,
Come the words they now, so openly force feed to us.

As blood stains the ground red around me, thus
The hanging blocks are stained with a purity

That the Church can never capture


Penned by my hand on the 17th of Ero, in the year 276 AF.