Goat Lodge - Koldbrann

In search of meager serenity

Cunning demons ever striding

My arsenal of spirits

Shall haul me through the night

In clouded visions, in distorted dreams

I’m out in the open, driven to the brink

As the dead hill comes into view

There is nothing inbetween

By the cruelty of nature

By the madness of the sea

She will settle for nothing less

She will claim as she has given

The Cormorant in the distance

Blackwinged scout of Utrøst

Standing tall, in lonely majesty

Like an ill-boding totem

Whispering birches

Ancient soil of Suicide

Across the field of thorns

Tearing up my old sores

Looking down that dismal road

I shall never forget their faces

So many a fellow lost

Hanging from the gallows pole

Strangely, still connected

Bound by an ageless ritual

The blood of the traitors

Washed away with the morning tide

The Dweller of the Threshold

Reaching into his bag of tricks

The song of the Yellow Jester

An omen of the coming harvest

A passage to the clearing unfolds

Sacret stone formation

The shadow of Ibex horns

Appear before my weary feet

Turning the familiar key

Open the door to my interior places

As howling winds go silent

I surrender to my sanctity

In the chamber of reflections

Retracing my faltering steps

Cheap Kalinka and kettle coffee

Rid my heart of these overgrown burdens

On the outside, the world is moving

The same ugly ways as ever before

Unbeknown to what resides beneath them

And to what end their blood shall trickle

The old, mounted trophies

Are playing their games of mockery

By the horned moon, breathing life

Into these devious paintings

Crafted by hands unknown

Much too real, as if immersed

Into a Dream within a Dream

Cease to live through the broken shards

Blackout is a gift from below