Deep in the Forest, In the center of the clearing, The remaining faithful few Gather round the fire. The moon through the trees And the glow of the flames Light an ancient Pagan rite To summon spirits of old. When rites of Blot are completed, They drink the mead and blood
From ancestral drinking horns Pa**ed down by their fathers. Two ravens fly overhead As a wolf watches from the trees. The hooded figures Sing in unison to the sky. The end of the sacred rite Marks the return of the Hated One...