1. |
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Instrumental.
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2. |
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The wind blows warm and fierce,
shrieking through the towers,
hollow steel cadavers
of monolithic hubris.
Skeletons of rusted waste,
tremble in the meadow,
shaken by the callous voices
of the raging dead.
The clouds speed by, pulsing,
the heartbeat of the Moon,
the Eye of Heaven looks down
upon the restless dead.
Everywhere we walk
lie the corpses of the fallen,
splintered, sodden ruin
of the forests former glory.
Lifeless, silver sinews
of exposed mycelium
lay bare and barren bleeding
like disembodied veins.
We ascend the moonlit path
to find the grove despoiled,
a boiling caldera
of pain, and death, and silence.
In that howling void,
we listen to the sadness
of splendor now forsaken,
a chorus of Despair.
The lonely few survivors
sway in desolation,
groaning tales of battles lost
and wisdom kept in vain.
The witching hour draws near,
a midnight bright as dawn
illuminates the legions,
vestiges of greater days.
Within that eerie conclave,
watched by wooden eyes,
eyes that cannot see,
we toil for the dead.
Our hearts are open wide
with empathy and rage,
we invoke the rites of vengeance
and call the Four Winds.
We skin the fallen doe
to make a ghastly totem,
a disemboweled warning
of excrement and heart's blood.
Sowing alder seeds
in the midnight tumult,
catkins scattered forth
glow with subtle Life.
The wind subsides
as the Moon retires,
the magic of the evening
fades without a sound.
We walk in silence, drained,
taking solace in the dark,
and listen to the wisdom
of the groaning few survivors.
The wind blows warm and fierce,
shrieking through the towers,
hollow steel cadavers
of monolithic hubris.
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3. |
Winter Sun (Elvenhome)
04:51
|
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The Sun, the splendid Eye
of all the Heavens
dives from the day.
And leaves the dozing sky
speckled with fireflies,
deepening in gray.
[Chorus]:
Sleep,
our oldest friend,
lulls in the trees
and calls us in.
Leaves give off cold fire,
they blaze into ash
at the end of the year.
Birds on coastal winds
flee to the south
when autumn ends.
The days grow dark,
long nights drown in rain,
without the sun's green fire
upon the trees.
[Chorus]
Fog suffocates the sky,
beneath the starving moon
our ambitions all die.
The breath of firefly, of bird,
the breath of humankind,
fades in a word.
[Chorus]
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4. |
Cimmeria
05:13
|
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It was a gloomy land that seemed to hold
all winds and clouds and dreams that shun the sun.
With bare boughs rattling in the lonesome winds,
and the dark woodlands brooding over all.
Not even lightened by the rare dim sun
which made squat shadows out of men.
They called it Cimmeria, land of Darkness and Deep Night.
It was so long ago and far away,
I've forgotten the very name men called me.
The axe and flint-tipped spear are like a dream,
and hunts and wars are shadows.
I recall only the stillness of that somber land,
the clouds that piled forever on the hills,
the deepness of the everlasting woods-
Cimmeria, land of Darkness and the Night,
Cimmeria, land of Darkness and the Night.
I recall only the stillness of that somber land,
Cimmeria land of Darkness and the Night.
What do I know of cultured ways,
the gilt, the craft, and the lie?
I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tongue, the sophist's guile,
they fail when the broadsword sings.
The somber woodlands whisper,
"Death to masters, gods, and kings."
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5. |
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Eyes fixed with dire ambition,
we stalk, unknown, unseen,
unheard but for sinister laughter,
Shadow's Sons and Twilight's Daughters.
In sewer tunnels, slick with stinking moisture,
vine-choked towers, neglected and forgotten
In dimly lit cobblestone alleys,
and musty cellars we make our homes.
We sleep with rats and run like lions,
lurk in darkness, pounce when the time is true,
snatching purses from belts with black stilettos,
we skip away, snickering in the dark.
Chaos hair, laughing circus,
we whisper nameless, coded, hieroglyphic tongues,
sharing secrets in squatted corners
of What-You-Call-Destroyed.
Listen close and hear the gentle Nothing,
the scamper-song of calloused vermin feet,
crescendo retreating as the torchlight advances,
phantasmagoric vespers escape from dawn.
We hum and whistle these silent symphonies,
round fires burning What-You-Throw-Away,
we wayward children whose playground is the night,
frolicking in the blackest corners and rubble of yesteryear.
|
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6. |
||||
Instrumental.
|
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7. |
Ostara/Equinox
04:26
|
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Beset by illness and betrayal,
the first blossoms of spring burst forth,
old life for new, sickness for health,
the sun returns yet darkness grows.
Deceit taints my tongue
as I drink of bitter sorrows,
lies told and truths half hidden,
friendships withering away.
Shining she enters my dreams,
kisses my forehead with motherly love,
her blessing dissipate
as I awake, forlorn.
[Chorus]:
Ostara, Mother of Light,
Bringer of Life and of Plenty,
Rabbit Maiden, Egg Bearer,
bathe me in your golden flames.
Reality again takes hold,
strangling tendrils of unwanted truths,
Ash and grit between the teeth,
hot and putrid bile.
Spring is rife with creation,
dreamed potential given flesh,
a harmonious conclave
of limitless becoming.
[Chorus]
Shield me from the blighted ones,
guide me to verdant forests,
to sweet waters and plentiful meadows,
fill my heart with warmth and love.
Shield me from the blighted ones,
guide me to verdant forests,
to sweet waters and plentiful meadows,
fill my heart with warmth and love.
[Chorus]
|
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8. |
Spring Thunderstorm
05:21
|
|||
Instrumental.
|
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9. |
||||
We sit, my brother,
atop the sacred hill,
on derelict ruins,
of modernity.
I see the cougars prowl,
by the light
of a thousand, thousand stars.
Five,
the beat we pound on timeworn drums.
Five,
the voice of pond frogs echoes back.
Five,
the laughter we share beneath a blanket of fog.
Five,
the fawn prances in the thick breath of night.
Five!
Drum, my brother, drum, as if you've never drummed before,
Drum for the splendid silver gloom of midsummer,
Drum for the glory of Wy'East!
Drum for the glory of Wy'East!
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10. |
||||
Instrumental.
|
Nuwisha Cascadia, Oregon
Nuwisha are were-coyotes, the mischievous, playful tricksters who prank others to teach them
wisdom.
This project is inspired by the lessons of Coyote, the splendor of the natural world, and by the relearing of ancestral lifeways and skills.
Nuwisha is Rowan WalkingWolf (aka Walks-With-the-Wind).
Nuwisha plays a whimsical mix of gray metal with atavistic, anarchist/primitivist lyrics.
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