The hinterland summons,

The last instrument torn

Roam the earth freely, comrade.

Shadows shall be left to mourn.

Bring in the mice.

Let the black feast begin.

The crows stand by the edge,

Shadows don’t scare them.

The white priestess ascends

Grave fervor

A scarlet toast…

To Death, my lover.

The reaper approaches,

Beckoning the era of dread.

Night descends.

The shadows have fled.

The commemorations of the day

Are far worse than the weaknesses of night.

Moon. You cloak all revelry,

You hide.

Thou hatcheth into the sweetest sunlight

Of thy morning glory.

To thy lore, we march.

Breathtaking silver, we bow.