Facing the North

As the Sun is slowly cut
by the jagged blade of the horizon
the sylvan kingdom around me
unveils its blackening face

In my left eye flashes
the silver sickle of sacrifice
the golden plate of offering
shines in the right

O' fire, fill my lungs
give swiftness to these words
by their beaks and claws ablaze
are the gates once buried unearthed

With blood I bless you
with spells I crown you
with everything I am
I make you holy
and lay you down at His feet

In His left hand flashes
the silver sickle of sacrifice
the golden plate of offering
shines in the right

When the nightsky hymns
give way to the song of the dawn
on the lips of witches
is the god of silence restored