Pyre - Huntsmen

Too many voices in the fog

Each of them calling to his god

A harmony that sets their souls free while they rot

Tell your god he don’t get my soul yet

Too many days lost in the swamp

Ancestors watching from the dark

A dream of fire, a funeral pyre will guide me home

To a nightmare of cinders and bones

Fire will guide me home!

There’s no winter in this land, but time clings like frost to my icy hands

A shrine for your eyes, a feast for your teeth

Pull back the veil, find another veil underneath

He held her hand close to his face

As the last of his humanity drained into the ground

The setting sun painted the world blood red

As his mind fled back to the swamp, never to be found

Asleep in the pyre, asleep in the pyre!