Cast them in to the fire,
totems of sacrifice and woe,
for the Sun god is here,
and he is generous.

The drums pound every night
in a glorious celebration of life!
The earth is bountiful and rich-
fertilized and multiplied.


The sky gives way to great storms,
a deluge that deafens all.
Game trails run as raging torrents,
and the end is fucking nigh!
The end is fucking nigh!

We walk upon the soaked carcasses of those who once gave us life.
Be it rain, wind of the weight of finality, the cadavers fall and fall.
Day light is meek, and the night grows long and cold.
Fungi lurch forward for a final gulping breath.
All is returned to the earth and the rain will fall and fall.

Rain will fall and fall.

It's the fury of the storm.
It's the endless falling rain.
It's the growing of the dark.
It's the thrive in decay.
It's the voice of woe.
It's the call of the moon.
It's the cold retribution of
the dark rider known as death.

I behold the world through cold, dead eyes.
The womb is barren and infertile.
The sun grows shy and the night grows strong.
We are all cast down and enslaved by the ripping cold. The field is a frozen corpse, but life seems to linger in the air, a mist both rich and void.

Cloaked in the skin of a beast,
we embrace the Leviathan as a necessity.
We assemble in caves;
we cower and wait.
My bones grow stiff and cold.

The glorious breath of flame keeps the blood from freezing.
The earth is suffocating within the ice, in a deep, cold sleep, with dreams of finality.
The freezing moon washes the world azure,
with the fog, the endless fog,
and the world grows fucking silent...

We, who built ourselves to paradigm.
We, who wore a colossal weight with pride.
In a niche of faunus extravagance
we ruled a tundra of malice.

Providence trades hands with exigence
as the wolves chase us in to the thicket.

Oh, the weight of it!