The Harvestry of Ghosts Lyrics

Grim nor gale shall hinder clove or heather Ghouls nor satyr

partakes goblets and gold fount



CHORUS

Years have I longed for pleasant times

From the harvestry of your heart

Cursed am I to be nurtured by

The hollow of ghosts haunting realm

He who seeks shall find her

Gifts more fine than silver



Memory the crowning deed of torment Sifts it sickle with the roar

of giants