Digital contemplation
Defames natural adoration,
Denies mythical admiration.
This is the song of our time.

Analytical observation
Defames mythical incarnation,
Denies mytho-human integration.
This is the song of our time.

But we have seen the earth figure.
In the shapes of our very thoughts.
Searing proof? the analytic has its bounds.

Lifelore revelation:
Myth is the song of the Earth!
Earthwide exultation:
Death is the song of rebirth!
Lifelong wheels of death and rebirth.
So many times shall I die on this earth!

Existential elevation
Is as a cyclical renovation.
Life's a series of ritual deaths.
Life's a series of ritual rebirths.

Cycles cascading cycles
Cascading lives
Cascading back,
To time unknown.
So we know.

We wear the masks
Worn a thousand times before
We are the myths
Born a thousand times of lore.

Birth initiation.
Earthlore captivation.
Archetype manifestation.
Another lifewheel rotation.

To live, first you must die.
To die, first you must wander.
Wander the road of a thousand trials.
Destroy the self; rebuilt it anew.

Brother of mine,
How could you thrive in constant peace?
Thrive without the struggle for always more?
One only lives when at war.

Sister, what tidings shall you bring?
What spoils and vict'ries shall you ever sing?
For what do you stand in your idleness?
From what great journey do you rest?

The peace for which you long
is but rest for the road ahead.
If you've yet to wander,
why do you rest like the dead?

The peace for which you long
Is but rest for the road ahead.
Fire I've lost, and fire I've found.
I sing to you, ye dead above the ground.

Brother of mine,
What of the lightning that governed you?
What scattered the clouds, O great thunderhead?
When Man is at peace, he is dead.

Sister, once fire-veined,
What quenched your heart, simmered the blood?
O former champion of the road unled,
Why do you rest like the dead?

Brother, have you tasted
the feast to defeat starvation?
Sister, have you drawn
The sweet breaths of flame that follow the hunt?

To live is not to exist.
To exist is not to live.

Brother, have you smelled
The distant smoke on the horizon?
Sister, have you shot out
After it with lungs of flame?

To live is not to exist.
To exist is not to live.

The flesh to defeat starvation.
The breaths of fire that follow the hunt.
To live is to smell the smoke in the distance
And sprint for it with fucking lungs of flame.

And so on and on,
You lay awake, and waste away.
And so on and on,
It pains me to the earth.

Brother, how shall I sing your song at the end?
Shall I sing that you were content
to smoulder, but never to blaze?

Sister, how shall I sing your song at the end?
Shall I sing that you were content
Not to burn, but to fade in the haze?

The great torch falls to the soil
There it flickers and roils
Our sorrow won't fuel it forever.

We all must carry the torch
We all must carry the memory

Death! Takes your fire! Takes your innocence!
When you bury a brother.
Death! Takes your fire! Takes your innocence!
When you bury a sister.

You have to accept there is nothing to be done.
You have to accept that this has happened.
You have to accept this begins a new chapter.
You have to accept you can never go back.
Who you were is now dead.

Heave the torch! Carry the torch!
We all must carry the torch!
We all must carry the memory.

Hold fast! To the Earth! For rebirth!
Thou modern Baldr.
Hold fast! To the Earth! For rebirth!
Thou modern Persephone!

You are at a new beginning
You are lost without bearings
A sailor without the stars
A chapter without yet words

You shall find navigation.
You shall find your story.

We'll walk through the day, on down to the bay
We'll claim old Goose River Point
So haul on your mugs and growler jugs
it's a long road, but not as long as a dry road

We'll drink the ale and spin many a tale
of our comrade's final days.

We'll pour out the beer for the one not here
Cheers, me b'y, once more.
Cheers once more, me b'y.

It's a long road and a sorrowed load.
It's a long road and a sorrowed load,
Cheers, me b'y, once more.
Cheers, once more, to ya, Sloan.

Where could we throw the ash, but the end of the path
at the swirling Goose River Point?
He'll stand with the trees, and run with the streams
where he once roamed, and now can ever again roam.

And again next year we'll feast out here
an annual march to the sea.
We'll raise up a toast on the rocky coast:
Cheers, me b'y, once more.
Cheers, once more, to ya, Sloan.

When she hardened with the cold
we would cross her and marvel in her
winter-white beauty.

Until she awoke
and claimed her first lives, in the spring.
And as they roll on the riverbed below,
Sustenance reclaimed by the neverending flow.

Now she's stolen another soul,
Another captive within her ever
Autumn-black beauty.

And as they roll on the riverbed below,
Sustenance reclaimed by the neverending flow.
And as they dance on the riverbed below.
Nothing but bones in the undertow.

As she creates, so she destroys
Livers of life must always repay.
As she creates, so she regains.
All whom she feeds she must one day reclaim.

Go, Wanderer! Cross this black stream.
Can you smell the distant fires on the horizon?
Can you feel the pull of the unknown mists?
Of the unknown forests stretching into the skyline?

And on this dark day as I cross
This New World Rhine with her own rings of gold.
She will whip me and bewail me with the wind,
To rip me into her depths, and claim me for herself
As the trees on the shore stand silently and watch.

As I stand out upon the shore,
And cry out to the breathing current,
Each and every one 'neath this Maritime sun
Grieves my brother; I must reclaim him.

And so I throw myself to the riverbed below.
Resurrection sought in the life-bearing flow.
But as I roam on the riverbed below,
I see nothing but bones in the undertow.

As she creates, so she destroys.
Livers of life must always repay.
As she creates, so she destroys.
All whom she feeds, she must one day reclaim.

O Wanderer, on the continent of saplings,
Tell me thy true name!
Not the heritage you don.
Nor the bloodline that you claim.

Tell me not the clan to which you wish to cling.
But what thou truly art, if thou even knowest it.
Tell me what copse of saplings hath thee truly sprung?
Whence art thou truly come? If thou even knowest it.

Wanderer! Have you seen the mother forests,
Across the raging seas?
Wanderer! Have you seen the darkened landscape,
Whence the elders cast their seeds?

This! Is the Continent of Saplings.
A monument of trees.
This! Is the Continent of Saplings.
From sea to shining sea.

We, here, on the Continent of Saplings,
Are seeds of distant lands.
But we, on the Continent of Saplings,
Take root in the same ground.

We, here, on the Continent of Saplings
Bear a thousand different forms.
But we, on the Continent of Saplings
Are of one kind.

I have long roamed this continent,
under the plague of the Nihilist.
Before, it was not this way.
Now all is death and decay.

"Wherever he sets his hand there is a cry
for the redeeming hero.
The carrier of the shining blade,
Whose blow, whose touch, whose existence,
will liberate the land."
-Joseph Campbell

Wanderer from the East! Lost on the trail.
You cannot see, yourself, what you're worth.
I behold you, emerald veiled in shale.
You must learn your worth, for the earth.

The thousand trials will strip you bare
to the hardened emerald soul.
Only then can you carry the shining brand
And smite the Nihilist from the land.

A thousand tribes, of a thousand names.
We are one kind; we are the same.
A thousand tribes, of a thousand names.

We're in need of liberation.
We are in need of a champion.

"Dethrone the great Nihilist!
Dethrone the great Nihilist!"

I've seen this continent's oceans,
And all its creatures in motion.
But above it all for splendour
stands the briny Maritimes.

Where the mist and the rain
Blast life into me,
And the old white pines
Stand guard over the sea.

Though I have left her as ofttime before
Oh how I long for her Maritime shores
I am but one of a thousand of lore
Oh how I long for her Maritime shores

Though I've lost myself in the greenery,
And all other distant scenery,
None match the climes
Of the misty Maritimes.

Elsewhere pipes are singing,
And strings and drums are ringing.
But none with the life
of the briny Maritimes.

As I climb mount Parafac
With the weight of the urns on my back
I grieve you.
I grieve the four of you.

As I reach the snowbound rock
With the weight of the earth on my back
I must leave you.
I must heave you to the winds.

View of a million trees
Brings this sorrowed king to his knees
View of a million trees
I am not what I once was
Before these four deaths because

Each tore out and gored my battered heart.
A man awake but with no breath
Part of me torn out with each death
Alive, yet dying for rebirth.

View of a million trees
And a sky burial for thee
Too much death around me
To ever be reborn.

Too much death around me.
I must put these ghosts to rest.

A thousand lakes crowned in pine
Gleam beneath this mountain spine
Relieve you
Receive you in their midst.

Would that you could see this aerial
Altar at your skyward burial.
Fly, fly on the four winds!

View of a million trees.

I feel the death release me.
My spirit becoming clean.
I feel the death release me.
I lay what I was to rest.

I can feel the silence,
All across the land,
Bearing peace and solace
To this sorrowed man.

I can feel the silence,
Misting whisper song,
Lifting off the burden
I've worn for so long.

Would that the mists envelop me,
Tendrils writhing upon my skin.
And raise me, on this sombre night,
This sombre night of october decline.

Would that the mists envelop me,
Tendrils writhing upon my skin.
And raise me, on this sombre night,
This sombre night of november renewal

Raise me atop the pyre.
The pyre of a thousand pine,
Rising against the nightscape.
A mountain, a bulwark, a fortress.

The pyre of a thousand pine that,
Hopeless against what was to come,
And too noble to be felled by cruel hand,
Laid themselves down.

The mist seeped down from the hills,
And took them in her tendrils.
She piled them high,
As a mountain against the nightscape.

Set me atop. set the Wandering king ablaze.
Burn this innocent flesh from my bones.
O Borea, breathe life into me.
Slake my dust bones, my ash skin.
Draw the life of this fire so high.
Draw it into me.

That I might take the height of the white pine,
That I might take the strength of the ironwood
That I might take the wisdom of the oak
That I might rise again.

Rise, Wanderer.

The Nihilist followed me along my path.
The Nihilist spoke to me.
"You've come so far, O Wanderer
Only to fall to me.

"I am the Nihilist.
And I will tell you of this world.
I am the Nihilist.
And I will shatter your world.

"Nothing lasts forever but the hope that it would.
Nothing you endeavour ever shines like it should.
Look into the mirror, look to the dawn.
All that you see will one day be gone.

"You've come so far, Wanderer.
With such a burden in tow.
It all will end in madness.
This you must surely know?

"Is every step not a mountain?
Does the wind not cut to the soul?
It will all end in sadness.
Why endeavour at all?"

I felt the death in his voice.
I felt the decay in his words.
But it slid off like mountain snow;
I'd been here before.
Before I'd taken up the urns.
Before I'd taken up the cause.
When I myself had burned down
To smouldering ash.

From the white-hot coals
At the base of my soul,
I thank the celestia.

For those refusing to tire
Heaving bellows of the fire,
Who stoked my dying heart.

"Listen to me, O Nihilist.
I will tell you what I have seen of this Earth.

When I've had so much death in my time,
What can one do but celebrate
What little time there is to exist,
What vibrant life burns in those around us.

'Nothing lasts forever,'
Said the black hole to the star.
Look into the mirror,
See the black hole that you are.

If every step is a mountain,
enjoy the fucking view.
And see the miles you've traveled
stretching out below you.

If nothing is forever,
We are roaring stars.
All that we endeavour
Is all of who we are.

Life is churning chaos
Life is roaring fire
All that we endeavour
Is all of who we are.

Stranded here on this wretched pier,
The Nihilist dead in the earth.
The four urns I bore, and the sorrow I wore
Their ash and my grief spread o'er the earth.

These burdens done, and these labours won,
I can return to my home.
These journeys done, and into mythos spun,
I now return to my home.

But it was a storm. A storm to kill.
I was driven to these shores.
It was a storm. A storm that killed.
Oh how it took from me. Yet I remain.

It's high time for high tide
On this bay of immeasurable loss.
A rising tide will raise all ships,
But mine is long since a sunken wreck.

So I took an axe along the woods of my idols.
I tapped the trunks to see which were hollow.
Now I sail on this ship I've nailed
together from the trees of felled idols.

This past twelvemonth was a roiling storm;
It killed, it stole, it blazed, it cracked.
I howled, I fought, I wailed, I mourned;
I was nought but a sunken wreck.

But now I know what it is to throw
Off a burden the weight of the earth.
Now I burn with the strength I've earned
And shift my gaze to the black clouds.

Now I am the storm. A storm to kill.
I shall decimate these shores.
A cyclone at the end of a cycle.
Above the world, my life stretching out to the end of the earth.
The Wanderer is dead; I see it all.

The Child (sees the Viator wending his way)
Becomes the Wanderer on the Earth
The Wanderer (led by the Mentor grey)
Becomes the Viator on his path

The Viator (seeing the Questioning Child)
Becomes himself the Mentor wise.
The Mentor (instructing The Wanderer wild)
Becomes himself once more the Questioning Child

The storm has gone, and the Wanderer is dead
I am become more?

I am the Viator
Master of paths, singer of wars
I am the Viator

I return to the Maritimes
I shall release it from death and decay
I return to her misted climes
I shall devour her death and decay

I am the Viator
I am the path, the journey, the war
I am the Viator

I return to the Maritimes
I shall sing the songs I've earned.
I return to her misted climes
I shall teach the fires I've learned.

I am the Viator.
I am the path, the journey, the war.
I am the Viator,
Master of paths, singer of wars.