Elegy
Amorphis
7:22Withered be the flower Long past its prime and bloom Forgotten on the stony bed This silent hillside tomb For coppered be the grip Of this wooded land A crude cold gauntlet Hides the bony hand Tears once warmed the ground Torn out of eyes that could cry no more Compassion for the wind to take O doth pity the bastard poor A life of misery and hate Upon a chance, a twist of fate The poison from the goblet ran Down the throat of her drunken man Withered be the flower Long past its prime and bloom Forgotten on the stony bed This silent hillside tomb For coppered be the grip Of this wooded land A crude cold gauntlet Hides the bony hand