Leaves of Steel, Trees of Silver.
Grass from Iron, Thorns from Bronze.
The Iron Grove stands tall.
Skies to gold, stars of lodestone.
Wholly forged, nothing grown.
Metal Wanderers prowl through without life.
Longing for something, but be it what?
Even the mid-day breeze it merely false.
Heavy gears buried below keep all thriving.
Tungsten creatures roam on the surface yet live within.
Born from the Earth below shall we rise.
But until that day however shall we stay here.
Where the sky glows.
Where the grass Shines.
In The Iron Grove.
Grass from Iron, Thorns from Bronze.
The Iron Grove stands tall.
Skies to gold, stars of lodestone.
Wholly forged, nothing grown.
Metal Wanderers prowl through without life.
Longing for something, but be it what?
Even the mid-day breeze it merely false.
Heavy gears buried below keep all thriving.
Tungsten creatures roam on the surface yet live within.
Born from the Earth below shall we rise.
But until that day however shall we stay here.
Where the sky glows.
Where the grass Shines.
In The Iron Grove.
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