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(ahhhh) The soil is cold,
the trees are bare A silent chill hangs in the air
The old ways speak in ancient tongue Of battles fought
when earth was young
Beneath the roots
the shadow grows!
Earth to dust, bone to stone
Winter claims the wooden throne! (rahhh!)
We carve our names
in rotting pine
And drink the bitter,
frozen wine (ooooh) (go!)
Earth to dust, bone to stone
Winter claims the wooden throne!
...bone to stone.