I was walking through the forest of the dead
With trees frozen as if with horror
In the cold mourning
The shapes were growing clear
Of some gallows on which
The most wanted fruit hanged: a corpse
A gentle breath of wind was singing fath his obituary
Then a woman in black comes near and sucks his anus
with fear
The black ritual of revival took place right before my yes,
Anal pus splashing is the secret of soul monopolization
The witch swept her mouth with pleasure
And the hanged open wide his eyes
To see the cold mourning together with it's unclear shapes
