Beau Navire - Bare Trees

Ghastly this place has become. Once a sacred place of old, beautiful and tranquil. This unnatural disease has left your limbs bare. No room to breathe, no chance to give. The wind like waves buries the land. It hurts to know that you're no longer full of life and dancing. No color, no emotion. The raspy shrill of agony is heard by no one. These bare trees bear no fruit.