I stand in the dark 'neath an oaken frame
With the black night close at hand
To ponder the portents and cast the runes
To read and understand
An ill wind blows neath the silver moon
And a darkness stalks the Wood,
As wards and spells and incantations
Have all proved naught for good.
Death now stalks in the moonlight
With Hate as its silver blade
Its brings in its breath a sickness
And scatters all light to shade
The runes hit the oak as the candles glow
The Circle wards the Dark
The whisps of herb through the nostrils dance
As the Future lays bare and stark
Dead dreaming gods are laughing
Their stars are coming right
Their arms stretch wide to embrace Mankind
In the shade of Eternal Night
To whoop and kill and howl with joy
As ancient gods of old
Blades grow sharp and flamelocks prime
With lust for flesh and gold
The seas boil hot and the greenwood burns
as fire rains down from the sky.
Angels gaze down at the roiling Hell
and weep as Mankind dies.
And amidst all this triumph of horror
In the ruins of the cities of Man
Rises a figure mock-laughing that bellows:
'ALL by THY WISH and THY HAND!'
As the blackness rolls through my spirit's eyes
I fumble, I trembling grope
To peer just beyond this hateful haze
To grasp at a shred of hope
But twist as I may through the velvet smoke
To conquer my dreaming fears,
There is naught but monsters & mortality
Striding across the years!