I struggle to escape
the weariness, the fever
my altar the bleak soil
the offering fresh heather

whispers are drowned in sweat
I curse not as I rave
and hollowed eyes mind their lore
the wintry moon is what I crave

still, I look out upon the wind
at war with all, at war with peace
as sages look the moors for their lore
the only thing you need to know is this:

when darkness comes hold torches blazing
or else forever lose your way...