The Oak

In the whirls of time,turning their eyestoward the shadowy monumentalsymbols of the past,following the lines up to the places,where power and mystery reignsome people raised many stones to the sunin their imposing silence.A warm wind is blowing in my facemelting the ice of death.Burnt alive victims around the cromlec?hin honour of my immortality.Crucified on The Oak.My blood is trickling down itno light in this church made of treessome men in white are chanting their songto the altar of Cernunnos.Crucified on The Oak.Oh you, God of Moon,sanctify this magis ritual.In my heart there?s the power of glory,in my eyes the shine of the sword.Oh you, God of Death, rescue me from this fear,I will be your messenger,rescue me from this light.Oh Mother Darkness, receive the son of cruelty and wisdom.Crucified on The Oak, in honour of Esus.The earth is imbued with the blood of my God?s enemiesand from flames a battle-cry is madly risen.Far away the death-song is going on with the crossing of the swords.The fog is hiding our temples made of stonesand the Gods are silently waiting for the event.The bloody encounter between our Pagan Devotion and the only god.Ruins around The Oak.Corpses in oblivion.Sealed up by the light of reason.Oh, cursed mortals, which is the right way?

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