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...