The mountain looms in the clouds above. Although of the earth, it stands with the gods. It was so easy to stare at screen while all outside was in vibrant green. So I fed the mind while body withered away. Now I put one foot before the other and a journey begins. The hammering of my heart, the great flesh anvil. The same redfire heart with which this life is forged thunders with the thrill of the unknown path—Thor’s hammer pounding against my chest. The terror that succeeds the shapes/Surrounding in the forest mist./The air that fills with mythic taste/Which binds to me from heart to fist. And when I re-emerge and leave the fog with the trees the thoughts I’ve won are seared to me forevermore. The hammering of my heart, the great flesh anvil. The same redfire heart on which all myth is born flares at the distant scent of laurel wreaths, heaves at the sight of a newfound path—Lugh’s fire roaring within my chest.
II: Vernal Rains
Here sits our hundred ‘lectric years in the shadow of chthonic millennia. Is this progress? As we sit our waking hours in worship at diode altars. Diodes only displace darkness; they never illuminate. You! who would choose the dark so the sun might burn even brighter as it soars. You! who would lose the brightness of the diode to regain the night and its lore. Your season is nigh. I can feel it on the wind. I can smell the chthonic climes as the vernal rains begin. You! who would spend waking hours with life immense in passion, pulse, and power. You! who would walk through hexadecimal thunder with the will of the advancing hunter. Your season is nigh. I can feel it on the wind. I can smell the chthonic climes as the vernal rains begin. “Every age has them. Every age has those who learn to thrive like sovereigns. Who walk each step with the fire of life, aware some days burn brighter than others. Who learn the landscape of the time. Its hills, its valleys. Who learn to navigate it with precision. With passion. With pulse. With immensity of spirit.”
III: Another Journey Begins
I walk the banks of the stream of electric thought. I cross to the warmth of where I once was. I look down to see a sixfold flame in hand. Sing me the dark songs of Chthonia. Sing life immense in passion and pulse.
I am the snow that falls: incessant, relentless, boundless. I am the rain that whips: raging, cleansing, cool. I am the sun that burns: awakened and scatt’ring the clouds. I am the heart that heaves: renewed, thundering.
Sing me the dark songs of Chthonia. Sing me the song of Metachthonia. Sing me life immense in passion and pulse.
I am the river that swells: incessant, relentless, boundless. I am the dam that bursts: raging, cleansing, cool. I am the stride ahead. I am the journey that begins.
You! spiritwalker, igniter of the sixfold flame—you! who breathe the essence of fire and exhale the chant of life. You! Who rend the earth and snow beneath your feet as you hurl yourself through endless miles of trails—to the summit of your pursuits. In mist we walk through the lands of Metachthonia. From mist we emerge and build the fires of old Chthonia.
And the fires burn bright, All across the earth, For any who wish to find them. For any who wish to find them.
For the fires burn bright, All across the earth. One foot before the other, And another journey begins.
In mist we walk, we sovereigns of old Chthonia. From mist we emerge, crowned sovereigns of Metachthonia. Rule on into the dusk.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
