1. |
Wychwood
05:47
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Mists linger on a frost filled dawn
sunlight glimmers on blade and thorn
grim, illumined but no not all
much remains in decay's dark thrall
Slow, certain the true demise
proving ground for all things that die
the wounds that whiten
the spikes that bind
the cords that tighten
the roots that bind
All in darkness is not corrupted
all that beckons cannot be trusted
beneath the sway of deepest night
dark woods awake far from mortal sight
'Through sodden ancient pathways
we tread to the home of witch-elms
and singing blades of liquid frost
dancing like lucid steam-beasts
that blow the breath
between the hawthorn stems'
'Await the signs of our fathers
The circle is closed
The doors to reality are closed
you, me, the gods, and the grinding of our steel
The boundary where ancient spectres rise
not in torment, but in eternal conquest'
Into the Wychwood!
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2. |
Droner in the Fog
05:04
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At last upon the whale's road
On heathen tides
and winds that scream
Where potent murmers ride the haunted skies
and rune-wise prows eager for the shore
Beneath the ice-capped vaults of middle-earth
where sword wolves sail across infernal seas
By skill of sail, by force of oar,
by steel and sinew, raise the tide of gore!
Each fool's lament, a wasted breath
Our heroes leave a wake that bleeds
where mail clad axemen prowl perception's edge
In ragged mass, black ravens reap the wind
Ice and fire!
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3. |
Whispers of Gods
04:14
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At times I have observed the world
while standing on the higher ground
while on the horizon
two crows pierce the dark veils of mist
From the gnashing waves upon the sea
to the lightest breeze that stirs the trees
in the churning air
I have heard the whispers of gods
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4. |
The Hidden
05:25
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Grim men in ages past
kept watch from these heights
Now only the wind
keeps this lonely vigil
The lines of the ramparts
still to be seen
their pride now tempered
by the passing of time
Weapons lay rusting
in forgotten places
The shields have rotted
these men are no more
None now remember
the burning of the gates
the shattered palisades
the heaps of carrion
Rain lashed gorse spikes
a blanket of elk-sedge
the seeds of protection
carried by storms
Too late for the wounded
who bled in the ditches
to be covered in elk-sedge
grim orphans of death
Pits of pride and war
beneath the footfalls
of weakling spectators
who knew us no more
Weapons lay rusting
in forgotten places
The shields have rotted
in heaps of carrion
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5. |
Bones in the Ground
03:59
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When this frail house of flesh
can no longer hold my spirit
if my enemies take me in war
or if fate leaves me prey
to the ravage of years
I ask this of you
this and no more
Place my bones in the ground
Let me face to the north
give me axe
give me shield
give me sword
As the crow reels in flight
and the teeth of death bite
raise a mound over me and my hoard
When the last drop is drained
when the mead hall runs dry
when the fire burns low on the hearth
as the hammers are crossed
on the midwinter frost
I will walk on the gods' starlit path
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BRETWALDAS OF HEATHEN DOOM Birmingham, UK
Two bastards from Birmingham who started making their own music in 2002.
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