Quando as neves caem e os ventos brancos sopram, o lobo solit叩rio morre, mas a matilha sobrevive.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Halls of Blind
I can see what you see not
Vision milky, then eyes rot.
When you turn, they will be gone,
Whispering their hidden song.
Then you see what cannot be
Shadows move where light should be.
Out of darkness, out of mind,
Cast down into the Halls of the Blind.