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