Lost in Elm - Gamma Sector

Tracks in the snow

Mark the tragic journey

Bit by the cold

As the moon’s phase is turning

Dead leaves crunch under feet

Leaving a state of peace

Echoing darkness

Losing sight

Losing light

Reaching behind, an abundance of hands

An effort to prevent this lonely soul

From meeting a familiar fate

The pleads

Lost in elm

Turn back

Leave this realm

The smell of freedom

The taste of imprisonment

Hangs in the air

Winds howl

Spirits scowl

Upon the mortal trespassing their sacred lands

The smell of freedom

The taste of imprisonment

Hangs in the air

Like the fog clinging to the trees

The moon red above

Bleeding through the leaves

Like the fog clinging to the trees

The moon red above

Bleeding through the leaves