as the bistering ray of hope hits aged roots buried in stone the moss which grows on decaying ground but wild gra** can thrive in its skull although colored by rotten subsistence once white as unspoiled flesh slowly dissolves now daplled black as foreseen is when the hunter gathers his price of golden mammoth teeth and pride shall shift to lust may it drive them forth
his barren throne left for none reclaimed in time by moss stone which carve through the flesh an empty grave of kings into the dormand giant's mouth he crawls but fall claims his cherished prize and soon eyes betray, blight the Woods carrier of dignified surrender ravaged tomb holds no remains from the awakened giant's mouth he crawls