SIGRBLOT LYRICS

9. Braadödha Vindh (Diävuls Andadräth)

10. Exiles Of The Golden Age

Why heed a call to arms in a conflict in which nothing remains to struggle for, only to fight against? An inane strife that this fallen world can never comprehend, no more than we understand the demise of a folk we no longer feel a part of. The shining Ones of ancient times appear as a distant sun - isolated and remote yet still universal. A flickering remembrance in fading rays of a past dawn and the twilight of this age as this historical cycle approaches its final hour.

Shadows of old whispered throughout the ages; smothered by the roar of the eternal adversary - iconoclast of the ancient truths imprinted on the soul. Venomous hazes of their serpent seed malice carried over our burial grounds and floating in the very veins of the bowels of this earth. The Siren's call of hollow riches summon the voracity of Men in Time; choir of spiritual eunuchs chanting mantras to our great End. Governed reign of wing clipped vultures feasting upon the carrion of the Camp of Saints.

In the Sun, even swords of light cast shadows over the soil. And thus, in them we stand for futile strife against the inevitable - through means of darkness, for a cause, which seems righteous; in vain hope of justifying ones life and death as one of meaning. To summon storms in the tidal waves of untold history! ...Or naught but a mere current in the vast seas of time, not to actually have changed, but at least have tried to break the bondage of our predestined fall.

One cannot break the laws of nature, only be broken by them! The inverted alchemy of western man, turning gold into lead. Amalgam ghosts attending the crucifixion of Europe, slithering out from her soiled womb with bastardised blood upon the Holy Lance. Entities never meant to be lie upon the anvil of the earth awaiting the mortal blow from the spiritual hammer of an ageless rule.

11. Varg I Veum

I dunkelhets omvärld ett cykliskt tillstånd i vilket dag och natt synes sammanlänkade.
Klarsynthetens förbannelse - kallande fullmåne; förlösande kraft till evig omvandling.
I skepnadsskiftet en kvalfull plåga då själsliv i skärseld förädlas.
Låt kättrad invärtesbest förjaga och fälla trälbunden sedlighet.

Varför fogad människans dekret i skuggsken av naturlagars fördärv?
Uråldrig ordning ovan skriftad andefattigdom!
Blotta viteshungrande käftar, krök sinnesfridstörstande klor;
åkalla folksjäls vidunder och låt det sinnena tillträda.
Stillsam åskådan genom rovdjurs världsbild helgar endräkt till
sans och ångers griftefrid.

Varg i veum - fredlös utanför fårahjordens värn.
Jaktens tidevarv - jämväl herden må frukta ulv!
Skåda den svunna stridens ulvmannahird,
fanatismens fanbärare saknar standar.
Korsfarare berövade sakrala ikoner -
rotlösa pilgrimer förutan vallfärdsort.
Svältfödd på mirakel och drömska syner
i tid av levande bragdemäns saknad.

Finnes kvar gör ett åtagande gentemot blodet; kallelsens fackla
lyser upp dvaladimman - en fallenhet att se världen i det dränkas!
Dock skonad förpliktelsen att bevara.
I fylkings tomrum efter förtröstans bortfall står Förgörarinkarnation
förebrådad i sekelåldrad veda. De ensliga sörjande vid Europas
dödklädnad är hedersgäster vid Helrikets jordiska dop.

12. Kali Yuga Intifada

"The gospel of perennial truth in its new form which we came to proclaim, and which is more, to live. Nothing can alter our allegiance of thee, stronghold of mankind of the West. Nothing can ever mar our loyalty to the old oath. No threats can force us to believe their lies. No bribery can keep our hearts from hating both. Happier as the storm draws nigh, we wait and watch events go by. We wait and watch the signs of war."

These omens will initiate the third edifice of the shrine of impiety; Solomon's grotto of whoredom - ciergy of rats gathering around the surfacing of their covenant ark. Winds of Gehinnom, bearing charred embers of the crimson heifer, shall birth its storm in the sands of time. From the desert tempest - enthroned in the eastern bog; crowned Dajal clad in scarlet wool, goatblood-stained robe of Joseph. The sovereign of leeches claiming the high pirest sceptre, ushered by ram's horn resonance from the Temple Mount. Bleached bones of the past be damned, unborn flesh decomposing before birth. "And every fleeting second brings us further away from the long nightmare of defeat." Triumph of the unclean and conquering the of the Old World.

With us they did not reckon when setting forth their vast utopian schemes. They thought thee dead, and us also. They thought our faith had slackened. They thought, the fools, that they could rely upon our loyalties to values which we hate. They thought they could send us to die without us ever asking why, when we had grown too weary to say no. They thought they had become the masters of our fate. And here we rise and here we stand, and give the world to understand, that we shall never fight but for our same old dream. For honour and for might, and what we know is right. "For the joy of asserting the privileges of our birth."

Rising secular embodiments of our end, foretold in arcane doctrines, as we remain shackled to a quest beyond redemption. Chained to a dreary strife in a descending spiral - eternal conflict linking gentile to hexagram. Omnipotent lodestar of Bethlehem glowing with an oily radiance - its nauseating illumination blinding those who still can see. Beacon of an unseen war fought for aeons - the host's struggle against the malevolent sarcoma. Destruction waits for no man as the hounds of time come stalking; wolf of the west and eagle of the east - unlikely tribes facing doom from the same yoke. Impending ruin in a joint consensus.

"And every dreary hour that passes by into eternity glaringly shows the soundness of our claim, and tells the world the inanity of thy enemy's victory. Thus we march invincibly towards our lofty end along the way of blood and tears. It matters not how much we gave. It matters not how much we shall yet give, to see all those who hated descend into their graves."

Swords of the light boreal - scimitars of the obsidian stone. Anguish in blood smeared runes - fervour welded in the burning jade flames. Symbols of the sol invictus, patterns of the glazing crescent night eye. To reach out and bestow death, yet shroud oneself in its loving embrace. Dual warrior mythos to behead the global serpent.

"We are grateful to the immortal gods who made us free. Serene, even in hell, and loving only thee."





SIGRBLOT LYRICS