Friday, June 10, 2016

Bardic Circle: Axel's Winning Poem from ToC 23

[Editor's note: adapted from "My Wall" by Sunn O))), view original lyrics here]

A Prophecy

And I do walk upon World’s Dyke
And I do survey the land
And I did become the Reaper with my own bare hands
For I am Wodan,
Though, some call me Nurgle,
Some call me Great Justari,
God of cargos,
God of weather,
Hanging God of boundaries,
Hanging God of Gibbet Hill
Killing God of hidden doorways.

Spinning the yarn from World's dyke to Coventry
Spinning the taelbook, telling the tale
Telling the tellbook to all and sundry
Mythdranorian and Folkestone hail
Then I hear camp followers bellow afar
Their shrieking lament for Johnny Guitar:

"Look to the farthest far horizon
Look to the bloodlust deepest scar
Look to the scattering barbaric uprising
For this be the wall of Johnny Guitar

This be the ditch that you shall die in
Here be the wall that I shall cry on
Ditch dug with antler and ox bone shovel
This rising wall that shades our ancient hovel."

Look to the north a quick mile yonder
Look to our Livets Tre
Look to the Lawman chasing Waster
Look to the Pirate chasing Lawman
Look to the Bandit chasing Bandit
Bandit bandit bandit bandit
Here in the bloodlust deepest scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar

"Ply your doom axe son of Destuval
Blood mass clinging to the sides of the hall
Blood mass stinging in each last ditch and combe
Son of ocean purvey a coming doom."

To rage in sound this valiant despair
Doom and gloom as each a splendid pair
To rage in sound the valiant despair:

Not Dionin
Not Vandor
And not Min
Neither Aurora whom we put faith in
Not Luna
Not Antioch
But to hilltop Thor
We rave and dance and weep and we implore:
Look to the farthest far horizon
Don’t blame the messenger,
Don’t blame the messenger,
Look to the farthest far horizon
Don’t blame the messenger.
Don’t blame the messenger,
For I am Death so Ragnarock with me
For I am Doom so Ragnarock with me.

And I stood upon World’s Dyke
And I did survey the land
And I did become the Reaper with my own bare hands...

And then I was King Karol with his arms outstretched
And then I was King Karol with his broken neck
And then I was the villain and the victim and the priest
Was grim misunderstanding and was grim as death itself

My Wall My Wall caught beneath the thrall of my Wall.

Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
"Ply your doom axe son of Destuval
Blood mass clinging to the sides of the hall
Blood mass stinging in each last ditch and combe
Son of ocean purvey a coming doom."

Mothers to your bosoms,
Grab your child and sing,
As to your breasts cascade and sing:
Brothers and fathers,
Down to the thing in the middle of the town
To judge at the thing

These the effeminate priests of Frey
That don their drag
And shriek through the day
That drag their God through the muddiest fields
Spilling seed to raise the yields
These the odd castrated womb-men
On this onerous land of no men

There the infernal priestess of Freyja,
These her people layer on layer
Then the infernal priestess of Freyja
Visiting the farms
The seething seer
Visiting the farms
And rarely leaving
Mounting the tumulus
The people grieving
Dodens doddering dead and dying.

Hear the modest priests of Ing
Who’s harkening always let us sing
That let’s us free our tightest waistband
Let’s us fertilise our own land
Spunked entire nations from one phallus
Spunked the vegetation into being
Spilled the super seed into the one day superceded earth.

Around the church in Creathorne the dead
Lie scattered underneath the sacred yew
As Sheila the Witch attending evening prayer
Praises a God but never tells them who
And from my Wall observing Sheila the Witch
Praises her God but never explaining which.

And every Monday night by the light of Moon
Those Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
And the heavy metal of the heathen bells
Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
And the bad heavy metal of the heathen bells
Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells

And the dogs can testify to my claim
That the faithful of Creathorne are faithful in name
But their stomping pounding actions attest
To their faithfulness happiest at rest
And the dogs who played at the Grandest Hall
Can attest that its keeper is the heathenest of all
Is a shapeshifter tending to her hogweed hidden
And her dear Paul wallows in the village pond nay midden

For all of us are boundaried by World's Dyke at the west
And the great world hill which spies us and can never let us rest
Bringing on a raining of mithril
From its home beneath the east
Caught always in the thrall of my Wall
Caught always in the thrall of my Wall

Here in the bloodlust deepest scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
Here in the bloodlust deepest scar
For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar

Ply your doom axe son of Destuval
Blood mass clinging to the sides of the hall
Blood mass stinging in each last ditch and combe
Son of ocean purvey a coming doom...

Don’t blame the messenger of gloom,
Don’t blame the messenger of doom,
For this be the Ragnarockiest aeion
In stillness Destuval and the ocean play on... play on... play on...

No comments:

Post a Comment