Heather back and berry clothes,
your eyes cheat unlucky deaths
the same eyes killing that jack-knifes,
you want the ebony of the lowness dryads,
and the nectar of the opium of her jewels.
Berseck warrior, the forest is your home,
the life is your temple and the embers your hell.
Pine stake, insensible timber,
statue marked for a horrible scar.
Why you feel something punising you?
If your heart is a inservible knot,
and your soul the mirror of the dreadfull.
Writted by Javier Elorza
