Embraced by and wrapped in subduing nightfall,
Slow hypnosis under a season’s shift.
The fresh sense of beauty in dusk,
Stirs the lake that laps at these shores.
Alive again and welcomed by the gods,
To praise again and recognise life.
The rains fall and the cold creeps through,
It is time to breathe and time to grow.
Fuelled by stagnation,
Despair is the catalyst for the weak to find strength,
And the empty to become whole.
Damn the confines and damn them all,
Shackles loosen under a late cold autumn dusk.
© Copyright 2016 Bolt Thrower. All rights reserved.
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