The grating noise of horned owl emphasises the dark

My only beacon in oblivion

Now when I'm one with this mystic web

Wherein dimensions bled to one



The fivefold kiss again

The lips that seal the vow

The feeling, that feeling



Here I stand

Where the witches sing their hymns

Full of tangled allegory



The atheme 

One of the tools of art

Which reveals the lore

The ancient craft

That hides in my heart

Acknowledged and exposed



The pain

Of the two initiations

Already made sense

It illustrates our goal

To create a new world

With my bare hands