Borea (Pyre Of A Thousand Pine)

Would that the mists envelop me
Tendrils writhing upon my skin
And raise me, on this sombre night
This sombre night of october decline.

Would that the mists envelop me
Tendrils writhing upon my skin
And raise me, on this sombre night
This sombre night of november renewal.

Raise me atop the pyre
The pyre of a thousand pine
Rising against the nightscape
A mountain, a bulwark, a fortress.

The pyre of a thousand pine that
Hopeless against what was to come
And too noble to be felled by cruel hand
Laid themselves down.

The mist seeped down from the hills
And took them in her tendrils
She piled them high
As a mountain against the nightscape.

Set me atop. set the Wandering king ablaze
Burn this innocent flesh from my bones
O Borea, breathe life into me
Slake my dust bones, my ash skin
Draw the life of this fire so high
Draw it into me.

That I might take the height of the white pine
That I might take the strength of the ironwood
That I might take the wisdom of the oak
That I might rise again.

Rise, Wanderer.