The funereal winds beckon my return

I journeyed to the frozen lands of ice and snow
In the light of the northern moon I felt the cold winds
Blow
Forest dwellers and the long forgotten spirits
Granted me a safe passage as nocturnal kindred

High above the icy mountains
I could hear wotan’s ravens’ cry
With their talons and blackest wings
They soared through the midnight sky

In the trollcaves of ancient times
Surrounded by fog and frost
The funeral winter whispered secrets of centuries lost

In the gloomy woods of despair
Where the cursed churches burned
The horned one waits in the shadows
Beckoning my return

The eerie winds howl at night
The malkuth souls breathe their first breath
As the vortex between universes unfolds
I remain in worship of the first death