Tearing of the weave

Oh we of empty hands
Oh we children of calamity
How could we have known
That it would have come to this?

We are overcome in the wake of your passing
Struggling forms sifting
Through shadows, searching
Many are the voices of the dead
The severed kin forgotten
Betrayed, ghost voices among the ashes
Ever calling to us on the wind

An now by those sinew holds the hand
That guides the arrow?
Whose lore to we inherit
The scavengers of dreams?
We tremble in the blackness
In the paling of our marrow
As we fill our throats with earth
In hope the elder voices become our own