The god of man is a failure
Our fortress is burning against the grain of the shattered sky
Charred birds escape from the ruins and return as cascading blood
Dying bloodbirds pooling, feeding the flood
The god of man is a failure
And all of our shadows are ashes against the grain
The texture of the soul is a liquid that casts a vermillion flood
From a wound carved as an oak; it fills the river bank a sanguine fog
These arms were meant to be lost! Hacked, severed and forgotten
The texture of time is a whisper that echoes across the flood
It's hymn resonates from tree to tree, through every sullen bough it sings
These boughs were said to be lost! Torn, unearthed and broken
Earth to flesh, flesh to wood, cast these limbs into the water
Aurora swims in the ether,
emerald fire scars the night sky.
Solstafir! (Icelandic word for radiating sun beams)
Amber streams from Sol
are not unlike the waves
of the sea, nor the endless horizon of ice.
Solstafir!
Aurora swims in the ether,
emerald fire paints the twilight.
Heidrun bleeds the golden nectar
for the rising sun and the moon.
The midnight wolves who watch over the dawn,
the golden dawn.
The woeful silence and wind's reflection
Of your body's pale ode, an icy fortress of blood and ages
Sky fire above, ice below the heart
Fall away from me to that citadel at the end of time
Where death sleeps and dreams of your buried pain
There has never been a silence like this before
[Instrumental]
[Instrumental]
[Instrumental]
The water pours its embracing arms around the stone
Decay drips from the unquiet void where the ice forms, where life ends
The stone is by the crimson flood, swallowed
The red tide beyond the ebon wound, contorted
My sacrifice bids farewell in this river of memory... a wave to end all time
Red birds escape from my wounds and return as falling snow
To sweep the landscape; a wind haunted, wings without bodies
The snow, the bitter snowfall
You long to die in her pale arms, crystalline, to become an ode to silence
In the soul of a mountain of birds, fallen
The cascading pallor of ghostless feather
The snow has fallen and raised this white mountain on which you will die
When all is withered and torn
And all has perished and fallen
These great wooden doors shall remain closed. . .
When the heart is a grave filled with blood
And the soul is a cold and haunted shall of lost hope
When the voice of pride has been silenced
And dignity's fires are but cinders
. . .their grandeur shall remain untainted
It is this grandeur that protects the spirit within
From the plight of this broken world, from the wounds in her song
I wish to die with my will and spirit intact
The will that inspired me to write these words
[Instrumental]
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am shattered on the floor
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am scattered on the floor
We are the wounds and the great cold death of the earth. . .
"Earth is floating on the waters like an island,
Hanging from four rawhide ropes
Fastened at the top of the Sacred four directions.
The ropes are tied to the ceiling of the sky,
When the ropes break, this world will come
Tumbling down and all living things will fall with it and die. . ."
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am the fragments on the floor
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am the ashes on the floor
We are the wounds and the great cold death of the earth
Darkness and silence, the light shall flicker out. . .
[Instrumental]
[Instrumental]
Oh dismal mourning...
I open my weary eyes once again
My life has been left hollow and ashes have filled the gorge of my within
Last night I hoped and wished I'd die in my sleep but no catharsis was granted to
Will this pain ever pass?
The enchanting perfume of winter and the bleak, cold breath of her still haunts
me...
Oportet ubique pulchritudinem evanescere
So half of me rode to the mountains and the other half soared high in the winds
to a place where the angels had fallen, the soil gagged and choked on their wings
My soul was the pale skyline that she stretched across the horizon
Two years had brought the fire that she paints upon my loathsome canvas
She is the dark one...
As a bird I watched her from my cold tower in the heavens
and when she fell from the northplace, I flew down and embraced her
I took her where the snow falls forever, she showed me the haunted woods
We gathered together in the oaken palace, free from both death and life
The fire blazed in her eyes one day and she tore the soul from my chest
With a bleeding heart, I flew back to my cold tower
to never escape and lie in a pool of death forever
I saw the nightfall...
It called to me like a river of shadows
It sang to me with the cries of a thousand ravens that blackened the sky as they
took flight
and sank the Sol
I shall never trust the sun again, Eridanis Nadir
I ran away far into the woods
To find the Sol, I called to her...
"I don't want to be forgotten...I never wanted to be human"
NEVER!!!!!
So alas the sun had descended, her fire burned brilliant in the sky
The trees bore their withered silhouettes, that cast a spell upon unearthly white
No wolf shall keep his secrets, no bird shall dance the skyline
And I am left with nothing but an oath that gleams like a sword
To bathe in the blood of man
Mankind...
[Instrumental]
There lies a beauty behind forbidden wooden doors
A beauty so rare and pure, it would make human eyes bleed and burn...
...She killed herself in the fall...
I am the unmaker, I bring death to the beautiful dawn
With pillor, cold, and a legion of dying angels...
...I killed myself in the spring...
A grim bough had hung me high
I sank the fires of the Sol
Here, nightfall reigns
I oppose the light
I gather the storms
with a sword I wield with hate
I shot down the sun with bow and flame
Pillorian for the dead winter
I am the unmaker
The pillorian...the ending
I...die...
I damn you the dead winters...
The shallow voice of the wind cries between these ebony wings
The shallow cries of the wind sing a swansong for mankind
Shine on morning skyfire
ablaze this final day
The autumnal end, the dawn of man
The centuries fade below my feet
I soared above them as they worthlessly poured thought from a chalice
As wisdom would flow, twilight would come to pass
Drink, oh hallowed cup of life
Shine on evening skyfire
Paint the sky with the blood of a raven
Bereavement, oh garment of ebony
As embers dress the dusk of man...
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.
A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;
Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man's image and his cry.
[Instrumental]
...Blood on my hands...
I walked in the shadows
'neth an azure midnight sky
I walked in the shadows
to abscond a life not my own
I walked in the night
this life I hate
Destroy this life, this life I hate
return me to the womb
thy crystalline will
has finally shattered
As spring rain paints itself
on the canvas of youth
it's snowing still in my heart
Will I ride the summer winds
or dance apon the crimson horizon
will I find paradise in hell?
If I go deep into the woods
If I go to this cabin
As scarlet flowers lust for the dew of morning
and infants nurse on the nectar of motherhood
As prophets of ruin wield their swords of wisdom
and battle forth towards a brighter dawn
Take me away from here
...Falling...
...Soaring...
If I go deep into the woods
If I go to this cabin
If I go deep into the woods
If I go will you follow?
...Falling...
...Soaring...
Take me away from here
(This blood) on my hands
to celebrate my passing
My soul shall bleed
for eternity
...in silence...
...It was not long ago when I had fallen from this mortal world,
lost in dream flight to pierce the horizon as a bird...
Is this life the pillor I must bear?
To grow in this wretched world?
...With hate each day I burn...
The birds above, they ride the winds
And from each piercing talon dangles a soul
The stone awaits my fall
Upon a grave I dug myself
The birds sing their requiems
Please lend me your wisdom to fly above the heavens,
Across seas of gold, to my land of frostbitten, ageless night
Let me dig my own grave
Let me, oh precious noose of mine
You are my mother, whose womb around my neck
Grants me a world of cold nihility
An endless winter night
A bitter, black frozen hell
For me
Forever!
Is this the pillor I must bear?
To die on this fucking world?
...With hate I die and burn...
The birds above, they caress the winds
They lend me the wisdom to fly...
[Sol Invictus cover]
Give us our bread and bury our dead
And kneel to the cross on the wall
Whether burnt at the stake or drunk at the wake
Just kneel to the cross on the wall
We've original sin, but we might just get in
If we beg to the cross on the wall
It's rattle your sabre and love your neighbours
But kneel to that cross on the wall.
See the roof fall, hear the bells crash
As flesh and bone turn to ash
Tried to conquer the sun with a Christian frost
The corpses' stench beneath the cross
Give them gold and they'll save your soul
And kneel to the cross on the wall
Hail to the boss of the great unwashed
And kneel to the cross on the wall
They wail and weep, the march of the sheep
As they go to the cross on the wall
And it's ever so wrong to dare to be strong
Lord Summerisle: "Now, those children out there, they're jumping through the flames in the hope that the god of the fire will make them fruitful. Really, you can't blame them. After all, what girl would not prefer the child of a god to that of some acne-scarred artisan?"
Sergeant Howie: "And you encourage them in this?"
Lord Summerisle: "Actively! It's most important to teach new generation born of Summerisle be made aware that here the old gods aren't dead."
Sergeant Howie: "And what of the true God? To whose glory churches and monasteries have been built on these islands for generations past? Now shall what of Him?"
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am shattered on the floor
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am scattered on the floor
We are the wounds and the great cold death of the earth. . .
"Earth is floating on the waters like an island,
Hanging from four rawhide ropes
Fastened at the top of the Sacred four directions.
The ropes are tied to the ceiling of the sky,
When the ropes break, this world will come
Tumbling down and all living things will fall with it and die. . ."
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am the fragments on the floor
Life is a clay urn on the mantle
And I am the ashes on the floor
We are the wounds and the great cold death of the earth
Lord Summerisle: "And the ministers fled the island never to return. What my grandfather started out of expediency, my father continued out of love. He brought me up the same way: to reverence the music, and the drama, and the rituals of the old gods; to love nature and to fear it, and to rely on it and to appease it when necessary. He brought me up--"
Sergeant Howie: "He brought you up to be a pagan!"
Through vast valleys I wonder
To the highest peaks
On pathways through a wild forgotten landscape
In search of God, in spite of man
'til the lost forsaken endless. . .
This is where I choose to tread
Fall. . .so shall we fall into the nihil?
The nothingness that we feel in the arms of the pale
In the shadow of the grim companion who walks with us
Here is the landscape
Here is the sun
Here in the balance of the earth
Where is the god?
Has he fallen and abandoned us?
As I'm stalked by the shadow of death's hand
The fire in my heart is forged across the land
Here at the edge of this world
Here I gaze at a pantheon of oak, a citadel of stone
If this grand panorama before me is what you call God. . .
Then God is not dead
I walked down to a river and sat in reflection of what had to be done
An offering of crimson flowed into the water below
A wound of spirit from which it floated and faded away
. . .like every hope I've ever had. . .
. . .like every dream I've ever known. . .
It washed away in a tide of longing, a longing for a better world
From my will, my throat, to the river, and into the sea. . .
. . .wash away. . .
. . .fade away. . .
Here is the landscape
Here is the sun
Here at the edge of the earth
Where is the god?
Has he fallen to ruin?
As I'm stalked by the shadow of death's hand
The birch tree in winter
Leaning over the secret pool
Is Narcissus in love
With the slight white branches,
The slim trunk,
In the dark glass;
But,
Spring coming on,
Is afraid,
And scarfs the white limbs
It was when I realized
that life has no meaning
no purpose, no quarry
...no answeres...
And all the dreary night
that had befallen across
the land
I slipped into a revery
a web of human hand
You longed to soar up high
to caress the silky winds
to embrace and kiss as lovers
...the ether...
but fate with cursed hand
has struck wretch apon your head
this wretch has been the day
you were born (human)
I live my life alone
and all it's misery
until the day I turn to stone
I shall die alone
among the wilderness
It was when I realized
apon my waking eyes
no nightmare of mankind
can harm me...
I live my life alone
among the wilderness
until the day i turn to stone
Life is but a dream
among the wilderness
...I spread my golden wings
set sail my weightless form
and soar into the cosmos
Like snowfall, you cry a silent storm
Your tears paint rivers on this oaken wall. . .
Amber nectar, misery ichor
. . .cascading in streams of hallowed form
For each stain, a forsaken shadow
You are the lugubrious spirit
Etched in the oak of wonder
You are the sullen voice and silent storm
Each night I lay
Awakened by her shivering silent voice
From the shapes in the corridor walls.
It pierces the solitude like that of a distant scream
In the pitch-black forest of my delusion. . .
With each passing day, a deeper grave. . .
"Why did you leave me to die?"
"Why did you abandon me?"
"Why did you walk away and leave me bitterly yearning?"
Her haunting, contorted despair was etched into the wood's grain
Though fire rages within me, no fire burns fiercer than her desire
The shape whispers my name. . .
I damn this oak!
I damn her sorrow!
I damn these oaken corridors
That bear the ghosts of those I've thrown away!
Though tempted I am to caress her texture divine
And taste her pain sweet, sweet like brandy wine;
I must burn these halls, these corridors
And silence her shrill, tormenting voice
. . .forever. . .
Like snowfall, you cried a silent storm
No tears stain this dust in my hands
But from this ashen gray, her voice still
Whispers my name. . .
You were the lugubrious spirit
Who haunted the oak of wonder
You were the geist that warned this frozen silent storm
It was in this haunted place under a moonless cloak of ebony
I was drawn to the glow of a young spiritess weeping in the woods
The blackest ravens and ice-veiled boughs
Have spoken of you, goddess of these bleak woods
I yearn for your embrace, spiritess of the melancholia
Show me, again, your sweet face
Enchant me with your rich, cinder burnt ether
Lure me into your arms and bless unto me eternal death
She had spoken to the dawn
Her words wisped in tongues of the wind
And then silence...
Pale clouds betrothed the dawn
Black rain fell
The birds wore masks
The haunting stain of her woe
Had burned itself into the oak
Night had gone
Bereaved, I was torn for her
One last time I witnessed her beauty in the distance
The arms of the trees tore at her morbid gown swaying in the loathsome winter
breeze
She faded before my eyes
Since that day a thousand veiled birds have taken flight
And the melancholy rain still pours forever on...
[Music by Haughm (4/97 - 3/98)]
The jagged lines in these wooden hands
Speak of a silent aeon below the depths
Of an austere ebon tide
For centuries kingdoms have risen
Upon the ancient hands of a god
Once severed for the world's birth
A sacrifice to the storms of life
Now darkness is thine sanctum
Temples of magma stream across the grey
The arc that transcends my iconic pride
For I am not an ageless god, no, I am imprisoned by time
These ancient palms shall once again be mine
Hands... hands that lift the oceans
To vertical depths
Above the stars
For when I die,
The universe will die with me
and all will be lost, forever gone
Where am I?
How long shall I suffer here?
Forlorn in the cold neolithic embrace
Forsaken deep in the sullen tide
How long shall I suffer here?
Perched on the cliffside gazing out into the brine
My archaic beard pours downward and joins the feral sea
I am the heritage; the quintessence of myth and legend
The archetype of Pagan might and divinity
Hands... hands that lift the oceans
To vertical depths beyond the stars
I gather a celestial blanket around these tired bones
And finally slumber in clouds of ice
These are my hands...
Kiss me coldly and drain this life from my lips
Let the cold blood flow on it's own...
Kiss me coldly and fall away from the soul
Long forgotten...
From which of this oak shall I hang myself?
These ebon halls are always dark...
From which frostbitten bough shall I die?
As dark as the winter, as black as her ghastly veil
As cold as her whisper and chilling gown
No corridors of life and beauty
These enchanted halls are stained with the blood of night
Ebon halls gleam as ghosts of a fire dance wickedly across a pantheon of marble
These weary eyes shall open no more, frozen tightly by the cold embrace of death
A charnel house of memories torn and burning melancholy shall embrace me now
Hear this call...
Beyond endless halls and far across the vast forest, just across the iron gates
Whispers...
As dark as the winter, as black as her grim mask of death
As cold as her sorrow, her ivory tears
No corridors of life and beauty
No bloodred sky, no colors left in this world
It was the light's end
Here I sit at the fire
Liquor's bitter flames warm my languid soul
Here I drink alone and remember
A graven life, the stain of her memory
In this cup, love's poison
For love is the poison of life
Tip the cup, feed the fire,
And forget about useless hope. . .
Lost in the desolation of love
The passions we reap and sow
Lost in the desolation of life
This path that we walk. . .
Here's to love, the sickness
The great martyr of the soul
Here's to life, the vice
The great herald of misery
In this cup, spiritus frumenti
For this is the nectar of the spirit
Quench the thirst, drown the sorrow
And forget about cold yesterdays. . .
Lost in the desolation of love
The passions we reap and sow
Lost in the desolation of life
This path that we walk. . .
Lost in the desolation of love
The sorrows we reap and sow
Lost in the desolation of life
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