In the age of loneliness and sorrow,
Was a whipped deplete tribe
That lived
They mourned and hoped for the new tomorrow,
They lurked and prayed
To see…
There were flying dragons and armored fiends,
Who made their way from the north
For a kill…
They butchered and beheaded all as they carried,
Blood on their swords and daggers
If you see…
The tribe, deprived, and mourned as they’d lost,
Their women, sons, closed ones
And family…
Sadness subjugated as hope had eluded but no one could know…
That was the night when all had gathered together, the devil, the demon and the ghosts.
And to summon all deaths and frights, was born with her first breath and sights
filled with hope that would relinquish the twinge and bend the bleakness of orphans whine.
She cleaned and healed the tribe with love, and all sang the holy songs…
They’d sacrificed the mourns of the bygones, the lost, the pain and the tragedy.
And yet they were haunted by the same fears they were stronger in their minds
filled with hope and agony that would vanquish the upcoming shadows of the deep dark rhymes.
And then they were back from the north
Those dragons and armored fiends,
For their kill…
The tribe was prepared for redemption
To justify their power and rage they had
To be…
And as they entered whistling the woods,
they had the same old prophecy,
To kill…
And the armed ones surprised, their balls dropped off,
when they saw their dragons bleed,
To death…
There she was standing with those eyes,
that howled their names and a surprise,
As she…
Tilted her palm and made them growl,
They yelled for their lives,
And pled…
Orenthra,
No!
Orenthra,
No!
Orenthra
Orenthra
