Amorphis - Tuonela : Withered
 

Amorphis



Tuonela



Withered





Withered be the flower



Long past it's 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 boney 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