Zaćmienie - Jonathan Low

Last born of the clan,
First one to be free,
Lived inside a house,
Beneath the hanging tree,
Loved them deadly nights,
That chilled him to the bone,
Words were cried at night,
In unforgiving tones,

Blood of his men was gone beneath snow,
He picked up his knife and his bow,
Killer of Jonathan Low

Violence from without,
And anger from withing,
Crawling through the fields,
Informing next to kin,
The all turned their backs,
But they all knew his name,
And if he could return,
They'd probably do the same

Blood of his friends was gone beneath snow,
For all that I know, he died,
Killer of Jonathan Low

The blood of his friends was gone beneath snow,
For all that I know, he died,
Killer of Jonathan Low