Surrender; for the things we hold close are not owned but borrowed
Like your flesh pressed against his, he holds you now underneath the blood moon
Wolves cry in the night for sheep ripe for slaughter, they know nothing of their fate as the pray for a new dawn
Blood runs cold as it seeps into frostbit ground; flowers no long grow in the fields we once shared
Plant your roots and in time, he will yield your harvest; the salt of your tears won’t tend to fertile ground
Allow the faceless to to awe in your rebirth; how quickly we forget the chill of winter nights as we run
Wolves retreat before the dawn, they hold no claim to your earth; the scent of you hair lingers in the western wind
There is no home for the orphaned; only the hope that our feast satisfies the loneliness that gnaws on our insides
Surrender; for this life is not owned but borrowed
Retreat; for this is no longer home