Paroles: The Quintessence. Throe.

On still and stirless burning plains
Slowly spread its mighty wings
A w ild-fowl ? throe, pestilent pain
Vomits cruel curse in the drift

Freezing gray glancing eyes
Torn, blood-stained plume petals
Breaks a flag, then trembling slight
As ascends and aims the sky

Screak consumes his brawn
Air clamors and squalls
His body crumbles to dust
Burns, flames and blasts

Red wound is the fading dusk
Acts with freeze, tormented limp,
Ash's been spread by the gray land
To resurrect and fly again