I behold the world through cold, dead eyes.
The womb is barren and infertile.
The sun grows shy and the night grows strong.
We are all cast down and enslaved by the ripping cold. The field is a frozen corpse, but life seems to linger in the air, a mist both rich and void.

Cloaked in the skin of a beast,
we embrace the Leviathan as a necessity.
We assemble in caves;
we cower and wait.
My bones grow stiff and cold.

The glorious breath of flame keeps the blood from freezing.
The earth is suffocating within the ice, in a deep, cold sleep, with dreams of finality.
The freezing moon washes the world azure,
with the fog, the endless fog,
and the world grows fucking silent...