| Blistering white, the frost cracks his face
|
| Knife blades of wind cut him down
|
| Gusting in clouds, a cold death awaits
|
| A frost-caked burial shroud
|
| Cruel black walls, impossibly high
|
| Rending the sky in a rift
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| Nothing else moves as the blizzard shifts
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| White claws of pain is all that exists
|
| Terrifying peaks surround him
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| Black on white on grey
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| The path winds e’er before him
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| Billowing storms swallow the day
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| Struggle to live, yet life’s caving in
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| A cruel joke incised by the ice
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| Blind in the white, grope ever on
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| Black flesh crying out to die
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| Death stalks his path, frost slows his blood
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| Altitude, torment of pace
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| To cease is to freeze, to movement a slave
|
| These crags are his life, these cliffs are his
|
| Grave
|
| The blizzard whirls around him
|
| The ground drops off below his feet
|
| Spinning, gazing into the chasm
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| Into the sickening vortex
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| Down
|
| The howl draws him to his senses
|
| A wolf? |
| The wind? |
| His mind?
|
| The horrors of war lie before him
|
| But he may fall before the fight
|
| To live impossible to fathom
|
| Fathoms below this white night
|
| Dawn, the break, that pass, it comes at last
|
| Down, below, the armies, swell and mass
|
| Batyr:
|
| Centuries lived out in an instant
|
| Atrocities a function of existence
|
| Horror, upon horror
|
| And all an empty dream
|
| One moment of glory
|
| For a life of pain
|
| Arrows like rain cleansing more
|
| Wiping out the sickening parasites
|
| Who shall live, and who shall die?
|
| Fighting for the tribal chief’s ideal
|
| Inflated by dogma, lies and steel
|
| The froth of the steed, sweat in his eyes
|
| And if you live, what then?
|
| Filth |