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1. |
The Celebration
05:21
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There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats over the world;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of
feastings unhallowed and old.
There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sun’s turning flight
And chant wild in the woods as they dance
Round a Yule-altar fungous and white
To no gale of Earth’s kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the thick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these powers are the powers of the dark,
From the graves
Of the lost Druid-folk
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2. |
Lord Of The Grove
08:38
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The shadows of flames dance
Along the walls of the cave
Of Herne The Hunter
Herne sharpens his blade
The heat rises
From the anvil
And the melting pot
Two eyes
Glimmer
Under
The pulled down hood
Regal bearer
Of The Deer Horns Crown
Protector
Of the rural tribe
From the rack
And the hot tongs
Of the hangman
From the power
Of noble men
From unbearable dues,
Knocking out the last coin
From the gallows
And fires
Licking our heels
From a cruel death
At the pillory
Host of the trees
In great honor
He meets the coven
Raise the hands
To the night sky,
And a moon
We, the heathen tribe
Archaic chords
And chants
Plunging us
Into trance
Trance
Of unbreakable
Circle dance
Oblivion
With heady water
Of the hidden streams
And chalice
Of the treacherous wine
Of summer harvest
Dark Man In Hood
Dark unconscious
Nature of beast within
Host Of Wild Hunt
Sun, Moon and Stars
Circling Above Him
Things at dusk were not clear
Nothing in the darkness
Can claim to be ultimate truth
Forest shadows
Allow you to see
Everything as you wish
The tops of the trees
Are his horns
And roots
Stretching
Into the secrets of Earth
The Earth,
That was our Earth
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3. |
Memorial Stone of Sorrow
08:23
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Vague half-memories
Under the cold gray skies
From the distant past
Snow falls constantly
Strong gusts of wind strive
To blow out weak fires
The clear dawn
Reflects brightly
In the cold waters
Endless white horizon
Spaces of cold, ringing air
From the height of its flight,
The eagle surveys
The snow-capped mountains,
The bright rays of the sun
Are reflected in clear days
The cold wind plays
In eagle feathers,
A keen eye watches below
An islands of floating ice
Disappearing
In a deep blue sea
The land
Of the witchcraft host
Ice stronghold
Silver people
With melted golden hair
Pale skin
And amber eyes
Shrinking blood
In ghastly veins
Blond figures
Of sparkling mirages
In the icy air
The haughty gods
Of the wild cavemen
That spending the nights
In shelters and caves
Strewn with layers of snow
Fighting the hungry beasts
Only joyful flame
Can exile darkness
And dampness
Melt snow and ice
Frosty mirages
Maddening whisper of wind
In a cold brume
Shapes of snow witches
Luring the night wanderers
And pushing them off the cliff
High in the mountains
River of steel flows
And stands a stone of sorrow
With two engraved eyes,
Full of anger
The gaze
Of a cruel god
From the other side
Of the ice pass
Invisible and silent,
He came to extinguished fires
And fireless caves
To harvest
The extinct hearts
In whose blood
Was not enough flame
To survive the cold
Memorial stone of sorrow
A reminder of the cruel days
Ice age of terror
Of struggle for life
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4. |
The Sacred Grove
05:38
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Sacred groves of heathens
Drunemeton
Where no bird you can meet
And no beast dwells there
Leaves shiver there
Without any whiff of a wind
In the bent trunks of sacred oaks
It is possible to see
Cruel altars and faces of gods
Here dead yews come to life,
Watered
By sacrificial blood
Unburning trees are wrapped
In a sorcery flame,
Huge snakes curled up
In kroner of mighty oaks
Here we glorify
The Andraste
Our lunar mother-goddess
Descended from a noble ancestry
Granting to us forces for dark arts
Here at midnight
Among the chopped-off heads
Of traitors and criminals
And their bodies on stakes,
Heathen deity
With cervine horns comes
From the heart of the grove
Pleasing and frightening
His children
By his impious presence
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5. |
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The mournful cry of a banshee
Heralds the descent of opaque dusk
The extramundane mourner
Foreshadowing grief
And imminent death,
Tears away from home
And pulls into mirkwood
Beyond the outskirts
Where lights of Sidhe wander
One on one with the night
One on one with flair
Palping the night veil
With sences of beast
The wind slams doors and shutters
Superstitions
Still live
In these corners
Of the world
The bitter taste of grief
In her moan
And the breath of folklore
Memorial chant
Of rural people'
Despair and suffering
That haunted them
From womb
To the grave
Close to the pulse
Close
To the breath of the Earth
Which rises the dead
At night
From their graves
And makes remember
Their names
Brothers and sisters
Have you learned your tongue?
Have you named
The things and gods?
How many tears
And drops
Of sweat and blood
And poison of words
You had put in result
I remember
The fate of peasantry
Whose pages been always written
In blisters and misery
While chosen kind
Partake the fruits
In the grace
Of the promised land
We are chained
To the stubborn earth
Fruitless and dead
Long miles
Of gray horizon
A pale thorn, the sun
Rarely pierce
The pall
Of rainy abysses
Its reflection
Casts roaming shadows
That inhabit
The land of rugged cliffs
And dolmens
Of stone
And merge
In the night
With the coming of dusk
Iron and copper slumber
In the mountain lodes
Surly soil
Feeds us
With a bad grace
Life path of struggle
Toil and hardship
Ends
Our bodies are cast
To the pyre
Life path
Of a bloodless tribe,
Without shelter
In age
Of nameless things and gods
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6. |
We Had Grown Like Trees
05:19
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We had grown like trees
From the underworld
Where our father Dis Pater reigns
With forging hammer
And chalice in hands
Listen to the whisper of the trees
Standing on the graves of our fathers
From the world of spirits,
They spread their roots
Deep into the earth,
A place where we all came from
And where we will return again
Forest is a holy cemetery
Of our forefathers
Whispering shadows roam
In the dark groves
Trunks with disembodied eyes
Stare into the night
And gnarled tree branches
Sway without breath of wind
I lean a hand to bark and I feel
It's awe, pulse of living heart
The flow of words and images
Streams on me and through me,
Like waterfall
I lay down on the earth, I close my eyes
And I feel as I'm taking root
The oldest oaks still remember
What was thousands years ago
As lunar shadows were turned
In dances with spirits of cold lakes
Like great sorcerers of the past
Ascended through the stars to the thrones
Of the great lords in the skies
As silver lightnings opened to people
A flame secret,
And gods wandered on the Earth
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7. |
Culture Dies In Fire
08:00
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Gods of the old religions
Became the devils
For the new ones
Confessions of witchcraft,
Ripped out by torture
Heathendom was equated
With heresy
Paralyzed by fear, unseeing eyes,
The victims stare in daze
Into the flames
When the fire began
To lick the heels,
Throats emitted
The uttered cries
Naked at the face of god
Skin peels off meat
And meat, with ugly burns
Peels off from bones
When flames consumed
The flesh
That like boiling oil
Dripped to the ground
And then crumbled to ash
At the stakes
In despair,
Shades were carried away
With the screams
Into the night
Restless souls roam
For centuries
In usurped lands
Noble men
Persecuted the old belief
Superstitions
Were burned with a flaming iron
Baptising the rural land
Dogs of god
They drove you like wild animals
With packs of hounds
Humility, obedience, and virtue
With new perversion
Concept of sin
That corrupts soul and mind
Our ancestral tree
Is a charred trunk
With burnt roots
Scorched by centuries
Of blazing bonfires
But as fire renews nature,
Newborn phoenix of our kin
Will rise
From the ashes
So, history is written in blood
And culture dies in fire
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8. |
Spirits Leave The Land
06:28
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Amber-gold shades of fall
Fading overshadow
The last islets of green
The cold wind
Slams the shutters mournfully
The church court went
Through the land
Like a ruinous scythe,
Mowed cities and villages
Only empty houses, gallows,
Bonfires' ashes
Left behind
Sounded the ringing of bells,
The chilling screams
Of the executed ones,
The shouts of the crowd
In the empty stromas of dwellings,
Lichen and moss now reign,
Withered red foliage
The fire in the hearth
Went out
Spirits leave the land
The eyes of the lakes
Were blinded,
The rustling lips
Of the forest
And the wind
Are numb
To the burial mounds
Of the old deities
They went
And the entrances
Сlosed behind them
Tuatha De Danann
Freyja and Vanir
No one left
To speak them
In sorcery tongue
Anymore
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