PS: Ich habe eines meiner besten Gedichte nach dem letzten The Moon lay hidden beneath a Cloud Album benannt. Inhaltlich spiegelt mein Werk die fatalistische Schönheit des Weltenbrandes wieder. Nun soll es ein letztes Salut für Albin Julius sein.
The smell of blood but victory
Smashed to bits in the peace of the night,
the Odhin hour seems to arise.
So shall we chant death, or stay in our rite
to serve our God of Sacrefice ?
Valkyries come out of human ash
to show us truth by reaping the corn,
but is our race ready for that smash,
or will it die before it is born ?
Is war the final side of life,
or oblivion the last shade of power ?
Broken bells cry the midnight hour,
so butcher the treason with our holy knife !
Death is centrifugal, so long and logical, decadent and symmetrical. Angels are mathematical. Angels are bestia, when man is the animal. Coil, fire of the mind