II
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Trees on the horizon
Harbingers of destiny
Longing for your bones
An image of a dream
The third one for the slaughterer
Eight of fourteen are already there
A door of stone, an empty home
Your initials painted in blood
The fourth one was feeding the flames
Released from a golden cage
The flames took the colours
The oils have faded to grey
The ashes in a coffin
Floating on the waves
Towards the horizon
Towards the end