Wormwood -

All the trivial pleasures of Erthe

Are but bile and bitter venom

When all has darkened

Hatred’s light shall guide me

The torrid winds of my home

No longer warm my flesh

I turn my gaze to the sea

To my forgotten enemy

The weight of prophecy

No longer burdens me

I save my strength

To be reborn

Behind me is that world of Ash

The cold air shortens my breath

Winters Spirits grow stronger

As I draw near

I hope my death

Absolves me of my wrongs

I hope, I hope it is cold

I hope, I hope it hurts

And as my life is ripped away

I hope I try to hold on

I go alone

Into Erthe’s frozen womb

The weight, the weight of the cold

Is too much,

Too much to bear

I hope it’s cold

I hope it hurts

As Wormwood fell

Into the sea

I became

Nobody

Though tales are told

Of the cold

No one knows

How it feels