'It is the dawn of a new morning at the Mountains of Silver and I would rather live in the ice than in the middle of the modern virtue and other southern winds' (Friedrich Nietzsche)
When the cold winds blows the fog away releasing dark shining shapes of a mystic forest. I embrace the Nightfall Old voices from ancient Witches announce the gathering of thee ...The ones of a thousand young. Here in the North... where We come forth to assemble. Where I Knee unto thee... Four times one and one are all. The four crowned Princes of Hell. The ones with the Sygil of Evil... Witness... the Goat on Fire. Who feed my desire. The Goat on Fire. A goat with the Northern Ice. A goat with the Southern Fire. Rex Tenebrarum! The crow over my soul. Tremendae Majestatis. The raven inside my Heart... Four times one and one are all. The four crowned princes of Hell The ones with the Sygil of Evil... Goat on Fire... Come feed my desire.
(WINTER 1992 e.v.)
2. Ancient Winter Goddess
A pure veil of darkness. A mysterious fog. The Moon is full. And the Wolves you call. Red as my blood it is the sky above us. As I witness the arrival of the Winter Solstice. And I cry from the abyss with the legions of Lilith. Who grant me, son of Goat, the virtues if the black oath. And I clime upon the Raven Mountain and yell. Oh! Thunders of light and pyres of flames - Fire is my domain - Oh! Freezing breezes, rain and snow - Winter is my domain - Oh! White Whale, Leviathan -Water is my domain- Oh! Most beatiful moutains and forests -The Earth and Air are my domain- So I invocate: Eaaaaaaa! Winter rise!... and the Ancient Winter Goddess rises and sits in her throne of snow and stone. Soon red will be the colour of the snow under us because She have sent Her angels and the fury of Winter. A cold morning will born and white is the sky above us. And by the powers of Winter Die! (Fall 1992)
3. Wolves From The Fog
Hear the howling... Narration: As the light falls and darkness paints the sky in black, a cold Moon shines and the red somber eyes awake, the forest whispers..Oh! Whis- pers my unholy name, from a frozen Mist I rise, I, Wolf, rise! And my brothers will attack under this blood sign...
Wolves from the fog will join in a nocturnal operetta. When the wind sounds bohemia and the trumpets loud bacanal. Oh! Fausts and ninfs the joy of Nahima, Mistress of the Sab- bat. Soon we'll be embraced by our father - the one with horns. Satan is rejoicing in pleasure destroying the shapes of flesh. ... and once again from the fog, with horns on head came the Wolf carrying in is shoulder the sacrifice, a beauty to this Walpurgis Eve. As, to the somber image of our God, the Wolf with Horns I walk!
