Hark!
The storms' aeon-old chant in countless tongues summoned...
Long... Have the vials lain dusting in thirst
The blood they crave must flow...

In this foul service in which to chant and kiss the goat

For tonight the moon shall be in place, the vials brimmed with crimson fluids
For tonight belongs to witches and incantations from the ruins

By the meadow, oldest stones give radiance
From a circle of black candles' gleam
And in the circle swells a sea of voices
Deathlike waves rising in consecration

...For the ones who roam endlessly
...For virgin blood to run free

The glimmer of a curved dagger in for a kill
Flashing at the virgin's face - in her eyes, death

Hear... The liturgies now said
Sealed and sanctified with death

The chant becomes wilder, in heat they revel
Ecstasy and lust burning for a spell
The dagger raised skyward for a frenzied strike
The maiden fair and pure stabbed like lowly swine
Bleeding dry into vials

Disemboweled... A death devout...

And by dawn all marks lay gone
But the winds bear in mind their songs

In the gleam of fire that from the ruins stems forth
In the otherworldly colour of their songs
From the ruins blood has flown;
Their offal lay carried on

...In regions beyond life
Beyond death and mortal grasp
Beyond future and past

"From the ruins we call to thee!"

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