The Wastelands
Nuclear Winter
GENRE
I lent upon the gate
When frost was spectre-grey
And harvest lands were desolate
In the weak eye of day
The tangled vine stems that scorched the sky
The ancient pulse of birth was sunken hard and dry
And every spirit upon the world was fervourless
The lands sharp features seemed to be
The century's corpse out lent
The crypt, the cloudy canopy
The wind, the death lament
Upon the growing doom
The impending sound trembled through
Now when the light is leaving
No life from the night's mist
And echoing through the wastelands
Night crushed out the day
The crypt, the cloudy canopy
The wind, the death lament
Upon the growing doom
The impending sound trembled through
When frost was spectre-grey
And harvest lands were desolate
In the weak eye of day
The tangled vine stems that scorched the sky
The ancient pulse of birth was sunken hard and dry
And every spirit upon the world was fervourless
The lands sharp features seemed to be
The century's corpse out lent
The crypt, the cloudy canopy
The wind, the death lament
Upon the growing doom
The impending sound trembled through
Now when the light is leaving
No life from the night's mist
And echoing through the wastelands
Night crushed out the day
The crypt, the cloudy canopy
The wind, the death lament
Upon the growing doom
The impending sound trembled through
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