Withered

Withered be the flower
 Long past its prime and bloom
 Forgotten on the stony bed
 This silent hillside tomb
 For coppered be the grip
 Of this wooded land
 A crude cold gauntlet
 Hides the bony hand
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 Tears once warmed the ground
 Torn out of eyes that could cry no more
 Compassion for the wind to take
 O doth pity the bastard poor
 A life of misery and hate
 Upon a chance, a twist of fate
 The poison from the goblet ran
 Down the throat of her drunken man
 ♪
 Withered be the flower
 Long past its prime and bloom
 Forgotten on the stony bed
 This silent hillside tomb
 For coppered be the grip
 Of this wooded land
 A crude cold gauntlet
 Hides the bony hand