Ultima Thule

The vast plains of ice

Faraway from route of nomads

Against the lacerating wind

Alone pilgrim presses through the snow

Beneath the wendigo's howls

And luring voice of naked nymphs

Await him to falter on this path

A warlock and mortal

From pulpits of madness

Send to forge towards his fate

Eyes blinded

And skin shred by thorns of cold

But somewhere inside burns the image

That rises past the horizon

The circle, the black stones

Monument of heavens below

At dawn of time consecrated

With blood of lesser races

Ceremonial knife

Aligns the stones

By light pouring from the stars

By blood of one who became void