Butchered At Birth

I see her sitting on her tomb,
Under the constant shadow of the moon,
Diseased creations are pushing out of her womb.

She is screaming,
but she's not in fear.
'cuz she's half past dead,
but the pain wont dissappear.

She lies on her tomb,
without any life left.
lying there helplessly,
in forever rest.

She lived her life of hell...in vain,
but still the forest is whispering her name.