1. |
Spire of Fate
02:42
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From the eyes of the undying...
From the eyes of the undying...
From the eyes of the undying...
So, they come to mop the fields of war.
So, they come to clean the shields and gore.
So, when all the screams and cries are spent,
When the swords and shields and men are rent,
Time and will and pride taken thrall,
The three scour the wastes to reap from the fall.
So, the spire of Fate wends, calls the holy sands;
All men run,
In vain,
From the Morrígan.
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2. |
Morrígan
07:01
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Badb!
Macha!
Nemain!
The Morrígan!
War Woman.
Queen Undying.
You are the eel,
The noose.
I will crack your skull on the green stone.
You are the grey wolf,
Biter of hands.
I will burst your eye with my spear.
You are the white heifer with the red ears.
I will cast a stone to break your leg.
Flames, Flames, Flames,
Flames erupt from the holes that are my eyes.
Badb!
Macha!
Nemain!
The Morrígan!
The Old Hag comes with the milch cow.
I drink life; her head heals.
I drink life. I drink life. I drink life.
Her head heals.
But, now I shake my spear.
I feel the weight of the long sleep.
It enshrouds me.
The veil of her eyes are snakes uncoiled.
Her lashes are snakes,
Uncoiled.
Snake Way.
Badb!
Macha!
Nemain!
The Morrígan!
Crow!
Sovereign!
Havok!
Morrígna!
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3. |
Golden Head
07:34
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Through time,
I have seen
Brothers to The Otherworld
The crow rides behind
With Fate's vision blind.
Spirit greenwood.
The Flame endures.
Build me greenwood.
I will rise and cover like smoke.
Through time,
I have seen fortress walls
Drained to ash.
The flame rides behind
Cleansing life and mind.
Am I not the predator?
Am I not the weapon?
I feel all dispossession,
For I will be a breaker of men.
I send foes to The Gate Keeper.
I send them to The Snake.
I am the Golden Head.
My name is "Gate."
My name is "Gate."
I am the Golden Head.
My name is "Gate."
The fields through the door,
Burn with The Sapling Spear.
Stab through The Gate:
See the Golden Head.
Golden Head.
Head.
The Smith breeds sky fire
In The Eye.
Ar Bolga.
In gaí Bolga.
Ar Dagda.
In torannchlesach.
Eye fire.
Ar Dían Cecht.
In gaí duvderg drugtach.
Sky fire.
Ar Bolga.
In gaí Bolga.
Am I not the predator?
Am I not the weapon?
I feel all dispossession,
For I will be a breaker of men.
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4. |
Through Time
03:25
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Through time,
I have seen brothers to the other world.
The crow rides behind,
With fate's vision blind.
Through time,
I have seen fortress walls drained to ash.
The flame rides behind,
Cleansing life and mind.
Through time,
I have seen plunder,
Food ripped from mouths.
The grain rides the wind,
The hand fails to fend.
Through time,
I have seen treachery,
Suffered lies.
The tongue rides the teeth,
The meaning hushed beneath.
But, have I not been the butcher?
Have I not wielded the torch?
Have I not been the robber?
Have I not betrayed, been the scourge?
Am I not the predator?
Am I not the weapon?
I feel all dispossession,
For I will be a breaker of men.
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5. |
Unyielding Yew
05:29
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Our force descends toward
War-torn tempest,
With bristling knives,
Carmine wrapped.
Rain snaps -
Freezing spears for battle's map.
Rage rides 'neath the spate
Of sky's clean sap.
Riastrad!
Lugh: Remake me!
Riastrad!
Remake. Me.
Dancing swords,
Hail down like acorn seeds:
Blades from trunks - begin:
Light from hard oak.
Our sovereign twigs speed from holy mounds;
Life makes Night's spokes.
Riastrad!
Lugh: Remake me!
Riastrad!
Remake. Me.
Holy mounds - begin:
Light from hard yew.
Regal violence is unsheathed.
Gae Assail.
Remake me,
A form of twigs,
Like the fiery yew blade:
Unyielding.
Our spears sing,
"Sweetness spun."
They plow fields,
To sever breath.
Gasping fear:
Men - furrowed - plunge;
Warmth ripped
From each rib-cage nest.
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6. |
Windswept
09:32
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Clatter hushed by bone and fog.
Sabers sprawled out near dead eyes.
Limbs lay stricken, limp, and odd.
The fire from veins, once fierce, now unmade.
Where are my honey-wine drinkers?
Spent mind and hour,
The crested tongue floating the breath;
Lost to the Morrígan’s tinker—
Flicker: West—
Invested in flesh.
Words wrested, pouring from wounds.
Windswept.
Windswept.
All ambition unhinged, plundered.
Windswept.
Windswept.
All intention expunged, sundered.
No tumulus.
No memory.
No knowledge.
Waiting for the termination shock.
Taranis ignited spears long ago.
Lightning-stabber wreathed my brow with blood.
The last one striving,
I walk amongst my brothers’ glow.
Their births blinding,
But now The Sídhe draw the brights to the bowels.
All extrinsic value extinguished.
Erosion claims like and inverse tide.
Taken away - like the dust - we are
Windswept.
Windswept.
All ambition unhinged, plundered.
Windswept.
Windswept.
All intention expunged, sundered.
I listened.
I heard the bodies of men snap like twigs.
I listened.
I heard the rasp of breath, throes robbed by breeze.
I listened.
The howl of the Nemain wracked the bloodied still.
I listened.
Fright gone, the desolation
Spoke.
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7. |
Call of the Sídhe
03:02
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8. |
Freedom
06:36
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The tonic air refreshes me,
Though destruction slips on the breeze.
Tribes dissolved in war’s bleaching arcade,
The arches reek, but my flesh remains.
Attached to freedom,
Still pleated in life’s brocade.
What is free?
Death from life?
Freedom from suffering?
Life from death?
Freedom from black oblivion?
Freedom is not in flesh.
Freedom is not from flesh.
The severed head speaks!
“The thought-cup, where the eyes lie;
The psychic-gourd, where the mouth rests;
Inside the cauldron, Mac Lir bestows regeneration.”
Freedom!
Momentary!
Freedom!
Momentary!
Where is the white host?
Where is the land at the end of the world?
Where is the steed that rides the sea like hills?
Victory coats the hair-stems in deep red.
An enduring grave dug
By a full-turn of the chariot’s wheel.
Freedom
Compels the lusty blade.
Freedom
Compels the wild frenzy.
Decapitate
Those fallen!
Decapitate
In glory!
Speak to the dead skulls
As their tongues wag prophecies to come.
Speak to the dead skulls
As their tongues wag prophecies to come.
Speak to the dead skulls
As their tongues wag
Prophecies…to come.
Prophecies…to come.
Regeneration
From the cauldron.
Regeneration.
Bruindit srotha sruaim de mil,
I crích Manannán mac Lir.
Regeneration
From the cauldron.
Regeneration.
Bruindit srotha sruaim de mil,
I crích Manannán mac Lir.
The severed head speaks!
“Shall it not impinge upon you
To dissect and divide
The verbal bowels of acidic demise
Spurting from the lip-borne sects
Of those facial confines?”
Freedom!
Momentary!
Freedom!
Momentary!
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Sol Ether Boston, Massachusetts
Atavistic Paroxysm.
NO
QUARTER.
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