Then onward into the grave face of the night.
Composed in response to the album Attera Totus Sanctus, by Dark Funeral.
Coursing onward beneath a frozen moon, petrifying all; a scowling deity
amongst the silence, solitude; frostbitten mountainfaces and wavering pines.
silence echoes, so foul and eerie, in riddled, primal tongue, so ancient, malevolent,
amongst a sense of great unknowing, and fear and meditative energies:
black soliloquies of earth and of blood and bark and worm and elk and rat.
Scattered remains of rituals litter the forest floors; pebbles, cinders, runes;
haste is made by riverside, glinting with a vain moon, like an impossible mirror;
silence echoes, so foul and eerie, in riddled, primal tongue, so ancient, malevolent,
while fists are made in loose soil and wolves howl over chattering water;
trampled seeds sunken like rain, then onward into the grave face of the night.