we all fall like leaves of sad trees. driven by the wind we slowly float towards the ground.
silence crept in when our leaves stopped rusheling in the wind and our secrets weren't spread across the land. when days are cold and nights as well, and those are the days when kings are made.
those are the days when kings are made, with cold hearts and bloody hands. those that fight wars but are lonesome in fact. until they fall like leaves and silence creeps in.
and it was as if winter would have never been. the land slowly forgets.
new generations grow serving the upcoming king. who turns out to have a cold heart and bloody hands.
nothing has been learned. kings are dead and we slowly forget.
nothing has been learned. we fight the same wars again.