Ⅸ - The Hermit - The Night-Bent Thing

[Verse 1] He crawls where fallen timbers twist, beneath a rail the earth dismissed. A wagon slants in broken clay, its rust devoured by slow decay. The forest keeps the truth he shed— the man he was, the man long fled. [Chorus] Writhe the roots with dread, writhe the roots with dread. The Night-Bent Thing stirs what is dead— writhe the roots with dread. [Verse 2] His coat of twine and weathered bone betrays the shape he once had known. A shuddered stride, a feral vein, a shadow born of loss and strain. His memory’s spark, a dimming thread, now coils inside the life he shed. [Chorus] Writhe the roots with dread, writhe the roots with dread. The Night-Bent Thing stirs what is dead— writhe the roots with dread. [Verse 3] He haunts the roads he walked before, yet keeps his distance from their roar. A glimpse of guilt beneath his hide— a fractured truth he cannot bide. And every sigh the branches spread recalls the past he turned to dread. [Chorus] Writhe the roots with dread, writhe the roots with dread. The Night-Bent Thing stirs what is dead— writhe the roots with dread. [Outro] Writhe the roots with dread… writhe the roots with dread… stirs what is dead... is dead...