Words of Violence and Strife I

DISCORD All is not at rest in the halls of the dead. In the fields were we roam. Something sits, waits, bides its time. Tell me do you feel the tremor in the ties that bind the links of life forever interwoven in the fabric of the night. Can you conspired to know what is unknown. A quite discord in the dead of night forever more, never more. All is a not at rest in the halls of the dead. Feel it craw deep in the walls turning boring churning. In the fields were we roam. Something sits, waits, bides its time. We wander in the GRAND halls. Distant is the call. A quite sound of brooks turning churning bubbling at the Falls Along a bleak, desolate field the haloed black sun breaks. Lost and alone knowing nothing but never unknown. All is a Discord in the halls of the damned. In the cities were we drift. It sits, bides its time. Starting in to the darkening wastes, eyes a fire, something waits.