The Elkmother speaks to me
And tells me many things
Of those without faith
Of the soul searching and the destitute
Those left scathing in the scuttles of time

Born of the heavens yet made to wander here
On this infernal plains of Abraham
Sitting alone by the fire, a nymph came to me
And spoke of her ancestors with a poisoned tongue

Now she rests by the pools of Bacchus
Indulged in the ecstasy of wine and erotica
Lest she will fall to even darker seductions
Only her descendants will know of her descent

Fortunes gifted by a mass of writhing tendrils
Eyes that gaze beyond the furthest horizons
I've been there, a lonesome blind pilgrim
And I've traveled for far too long
And as I sit 'neath the firmament
I can almost see you dancing with all her daughters
In these flames that I will soon fall into
Where I will see you again

A dark wind blows
A woman gathers her clothes before the coming storm
Her curtains dance

She shouts her husband's name
To a plaguelike sky
Thunder rolls on by

Her daughter rests by the shoreline
A sun waits behind an iron armada
His gentle kiss blows away from her

When she sleeps, her mother curses the northern winds
A pasture, a well and the first harvest of the year
To dream is to die alone
To stay is to die inside

She could almost touch the color of the wheat
Before it faded into the grey

A man of oak stood next to her
A hand on her shoulder, she was beckoned into the night

The lantern has almost run out of oil
And the snow keeps getting deeper
The bread is burning over the hearth
And the wind keeps on howling
The mother of a fatherless child cries herself to sleep
And the void keeps on growing

A dying fawn laughs
And a new night comes
To each their own, but I
Was led by the fleeting bliss of youth
A hearth lay empty
Cold and flickering
Waiting for a traveler to gather it
Up into his arms

The flight of those once made sacred
A waste of futile existence
Why tend to the flock if they all die anyways?

From the calmest days,
Shall you lead an uneasy kayak through the harshest storms

And for you to rest only enrages her more
Who am I to ease my suffering?

To writhe in the snare,
To carve marks into the bone
Shall only appease the hunter more
Or does it pity him, that he would starve without you

Alas, the fawn slowly withers
But not without the joyful weeping
Of Saturn's rotten hand

An October night howls and a cabin lay empty
For the cold hands grasped her
Not unlike a drafty attic in December
Or a moth stuck in a cedar wardrobe

Born from the black cube of Andromeda
I have been given stigmata from Orion
The great bear of the cosmos follows me
As he searches for the lost twins of time

In my hands, a knife from the forests
For which I shall cleanse the waters 'round my home
Death gifted me a bouquet
That will silence the eternal blaze of the wood fire

By these shores, we have called this cabin our home
Do you remember the perfume of burning spruce and honey
Or the gentle petrichoral whispers of the northern rain
Would you give that up for your false idea of freedom?

A skeleton wanders these empty fields
In search of meaning
He ignores the shrieks of gods
Or the orgies of Saturn as they call his name

Ages and ages have passed by these woods
And yet, she lays awake wandering in these wastes
A bent pine growing ever closer towards the night
A whale howling to the evergloam

As he vanished into the darkwood
A moonlit burial ground
Shards of glass fall from her neck
And a child sings of a withering pyre