Cavité - Baroness

Four seed forest, laurels fade

Thrice fed famine, balance made

The cycle has begun

Closure of an age

Becomes the season of the spirit

When the air is rent in two

And bone and blood have forgotten

C’est le temps de la

Saison rouge de la terre

The fire of night blinds the seed unchained

The will to rise is out of turn

Electric storm will strip it clean

It is a boiling and dripping burn

To taste the solar flare and see

You will never see this season burn

Then.

now.

ever.

again