Samain
			Indomitus

1. Heralding the High King

"The wanton lust of men is the enemy"
were her words to me;
but unheard she was,
for all my thoughts were for the kill.
"A treasure beyond all else
is my womb,
for from it shall come
the very vigour of the land."
I had no mind for a  woman's riddles;
my thoughts were a scattered flight
of crows that day.
The heat was upon me,
in my sword and my loins.
A spender of spears I was,
a wheel to the enemy.
"Be my own pillar in the battle,"
she bade me.
Still, my heart was the deep
stone heart of a mountain,
and in her breast was solace.
But how I bit her,
and spat (upon) her face.
When first I felt that touch
of iron in my heart,
never so deeply was I struck.
Igraine's voice was a call to me (then).
Midst the mourning mists of Annwn,
how my tongue challenged my teeth.
A spender of spears I was,
a wheel to confront the enemy in battle,
but Igraine's cloak
was fastened torn on my shield.
He that was clad
in the skin of a dragon
came to her that eve,
while my body lay
midst a wreck of spears.
In life beyond me
to her was born a son;
the vital King of Kings.
For him, Lord above All,
I would cut off the hands
that rose against him
a pile of biers to make
of those vengeful sons.
But for this accursed wailing...
A spender of spears I was,
a pillar in battle,
a wheel to confront the enemy.


2. Mac an Earraich uaine ri Caisge


3. Stormclouds Gather

The wind rapes the trees
Air gibbers with profanities
Woodsmoke stinks of prophecy
Shapes lurk in the shadows
Of the threshold of night

This ritual empowers me,
In this heart of astral cyclone,
Stormwings lead me your gatherings.
Enfold me in wings of darkness.
Bless my eye,
Blacken my sword.

My weapons lay before me,
Demonblood a sustained howl
In my mind,
A burning in my veins.
The moons yellow rictus looms,
And I’m kneeling with the spirit
of Thanatos.

The foe awaits a reckoning.
Come dawn,
Under chainmail’d skies,
With this curse steel
I’ll set the spells complete.
Swathed in black funeral cloth,
In thrall to the storm,
Masturbate with grim abandon
To semenize this hungry blade.
One last sunrise.
One final bloody kiss goodbye.


4. Lament


5. Fianna

Through the mists we ran,
sunbeams cast in vapour
the spears of Lugh
cast in war before us.

Massed ranks of Foe
a spider-web weak contrivance
and we; secure in knowing
we'll redden their earth ruts.

A thousand battles balanced
on sword's edge
and on point of honour
we laugh at what ruddy spears targets
we make.

Skyclad and infernal
our nostrils flaring
with harsh drawn breath a trumpeting
and the ground consumed by our stride.

The power of male vigour
is an icon
with which to clasp in hand
and crush the opposer.

Graveless we are,
for through all time we charge
our thousand-eyed horde
forever strong.

To weave a tale
for future years
in blood singing
of iron against iron.


6. Tir na nOc

In death we are freed,
Freed from your holy cross.
Spirits walk the ancient paths,
The roads of our ancestors,
For the old ways are not forgotten
To the depths of our hearts.

Through sacred mounds
we are reborn.
Through to the Otherworld
Tir na nOc.
Casting off the indignity
of christ's leash.

We fight as our forefathers did,
And as they once did and do now,
We do too.

We feast as our forefathers did,
In halls of barbarity,
Warmed by pagan fires
and pagan wines.

We were enslaved as our forefathers were.
But we've drunk deeply of their cups,
And the only cross we'll hear now
is crossed steel.


7. The Red Field


8. A Pagan Funeral

Unhallowed ground
our bare feet touches.
The wild grasses swept
by a wind of calling
A fire to challenge their God's delight.

Into the earth
our king will travel.
His way paved with thought and gold,
to a wicked afterlife of no repentance.

Hear the mourning of the tall grasses.
A sigh at the burial pole,
the sign of a spirit unconquered in its passing.
We part in honour and draw tears of blood.

Golden shoes he wore in life (surefooted)
that never trod the path of righteousness
In his hand, a jewelled sword he bore
that served no Lord but him (and no cause but our own)

A silver tongue was in his mouth
that satirised the words of the holy.
Carved of stone were the shoulders
that carried with them our fate.

Our King is Dead
Our hope has died.
All sorrows chastise our souls.
We're adrift in a gulf of madness and yearning.
A storm of Fear and Hate binds the land,
this once Land of Youth
smokes with desire
for the first of the Ancients.


9. Seeking the Way

I, in my hillside eclipsed
of light
forever shadows
are my legion.

Tree roots of ancient
things my ceiling
whispers
in the cold
of solitude.

I, immortal
through longing
sing the names
for those hidden
forms past decay.

Installed
in darkened crypts
of nerves
we challenge
the way seekers
for fancy.

I, no longer bold
remotely saddened
for fingers turned cold
in autumnal grip.

A weave of grey
in strands of sky
we drink the new dawn.

I, of darkest night
howl for secrets
stripped of meaning.


10. Beyond the Waves