Through utter darkness we roam



And we breathe the air of this autumn evening.

So bright, the cold breeze fills our hearts with ice

And we hear the trees whisper and the spirits sing.

The perfume to smell is full of enchantment

A warm secret surrounded by cold.

And these woods are our own eternity

Under a starry sky in a dream so old.



Then, nightfall, enthralled by bloodthirst

An eternal enigma, yet a hymn to those

Who passionately roam, cloaked by the nightsky.

Come on Bacchants, let us hunt in sigh.

"Follow the Night-Hag, when call'd in secret

Riding through the Air she comes

Lur'd with the smell of infant blood, to dance

With Lapland Witches, while the labouring Moon

Eclipses at their charmes."



Our crimson quickening, whispering through their veins

Like the funeral winds whisper through the leaves.

We will hunt them for eternity, our jewels come forth of their fear

And we drink their spirits like wine, celebrating their misery.

...Every night we die in a passionate melancholy...