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Воскресенье, 27.09.2020, 03:16
Приветствую Вас Гость
Sacro Culto 
| 1. The Oak 10:40|
| 2. Fronds of the Ancient Walnut 12:25|
| 3. The Naked and the Dance 8:21|
| 4. Cimmeries 12:42|
| 5. My Devotion 15:00|
| 6. Under the Sign of the Red Dragon 11:18|
| total time 70:26|
In the whirls of time,
turning their eyes
toward the shadowy monumental
symbols of the past,
following the lines up to the places,
where power and mystery reign
some people raised many stones to the sun
in their imposing silence.
A warm wind is blowing in my face
melting the ice of death.
Burnt alive victims around the cromlech
in honour of my immortality.
Crucified on The Oak.
My blood is trickling down it
no light in this church made of trees
some men in white are chanting their song
to the altar of Cernunnos.
Crucified on The Oak.
Oh you, God of Moon,
sanctify this magis ritual.
In my heart there's the power of glory,
in my eyes the shine of the sword.
Oh you, God of Death, rescue me from this fear,
I will be your messenger,
rescue me from this light.
Oh Mother Darkness, receive the son of cruelty and wisdom.
Crucified on The Oak, in honour of Esus.
The earth is imbued with the blood of my God's enemies
and from flames a battle-cry is madly risen.
Far away the death-song is going on with the crossing of the swords.
The fog is hiding our temples made of stones
and the Gods are silently waiting for the event.
The bloody encounter between our Pagan Devotion and the only god.
Ruins around The Oak.
Corpses in oblivion.
Sealed up by the light of reason.
Oh, cursed mortals, which is the right way?
Fronds of the Ancient Walnut
Feel the breeze on my face
the icy breath of the Goddess.
I raise my hand and touch the illusion.
My mind is powerful and my Ego is high
as the mountain in front of me.
Clouds run fast and silence comes
from the Fronds of the Ancient Walnut:
no scents, no odors, no sounds, no laments ;
the cold vanishes...
I get all the colors all around me
and I see the enchanting dance of the branches:
it is the Walnut calling the witches,
it is our dream voyaging through the aethyr.
What was not becomes reality.
I am the deer running to the Sabbath!
I am the crow which observes the silence!
I am the craftsman of myself...
therefore I praise the Horned and the Great Mother!
And where the wind blows, at the mercy of the oneiric,
it is the touch of the world's spirits
which enhances my magic.
Mind's spreading, faint voices chant at the moon,
the silvering light of Levanah penetrates the unconscious
and revives the Ancient Knowledge.
I take flight, the dance is over.
Now we are the deer returning from the Sabbath!
Now we are the crow which contemplated the silence!
Now we are the craftsmen of ourselves...
therefore we praise the Horned and the Great Mother!
The Naked and the Dance
The fresh humidity of the green moss wets my skin,
my body laying down, as it suits to who adores a god,
over the sacred stones of the Cromlech.
Our bodies clinging each other,
what is of the One becomes of the Many.
The incense smoke dances with the candles flames
attracting the celebrants astral energies.
The choral worshipping of the Black Goddess raises from our minds,
what is of the Many becomes of the One.
The sacred wine shall fill the cup which turned was in the goatish horn,
the fertile lips shall kiss the rod which life and shape took from the walnut.
An the Nine shall come at the beginning of the dance,
the naked feet shall caress Sheela Na Gog,
the naked bodies moistened by wood's breath,
the naked minds dancing in the air,
and the shrewd spirits, by sacred fire inebriated, shall turn to whirl,
and once more the Great Spiral shall be Tregenda
one and seven to celebrate the thirteen fullnesses of Levanah,
who of ancient memory made arcane magic mortal.
Simple melodies by Her Who guides vibrated,
enchantements of witches for millenniums hand down,
bodies like veils fluttering to paint the Great Dance
offered to the sky as a tribute of the soul drag into oblivion.
May I rejoin the stars, free my astral,
embrace Knowledge and in the All regenerate myself now beast now man,
till to reborn from the effluviums of my ethereal spirit God I Myself,
God among Gods,
deserving of my devotion and of my passion!
Sacrifical victim for those who welcome me
heir and part of the All.
Gorgot Assai Belem.
May the Great Portal open to me,
my voice thunder in thy name
and for the power of the Lords of the Great Frost.
The whirling air of the North guide my spirit
in the quest for glorious past.
And it was in the mist of time
that the death fires floodlighted darkness
the wind brought the smell of blood,
the air of extermination and the exterminators outcry.
The blades of sacrifice deepened in the flesh
and the nerves and the black seers raised
hearts still pulsating to unnamable Gods
for their obscure prophecies.
Prepare now your soul for the embrace of the sacred death,
may water suffocate your breath and flame consume your flesh,
all this so that Teutates, Esus and Taranis protect my people.
Heavy and slow were the treads of the black warriors
in the Aeron's march, dust rising like whirls
while the horrible Crow turned His eyes to the battle remains.
Morighon was reigning among the stones of the timeless,
where the stars engraved their symbols
and under the brightness of the moon
the initiates were enlighted on the Great Secrets.
I want to reopen my eyes to look beyond the horizon of fear,
My God is in me,
in the strenght of my arm,
in the light of my sword.
I raise my arms to Andraste,
so that only massacre be in my eyes.
To the threshold of the abyss I kneel,
so that the Three Furies invade my soul.
With wine I honour the Gods,
so that inebriation draws me near them.
My face I paint of moon
like all the sons of the dying sun lands,
I belong to Her.
Crom is in me.
Remote are now those archaic deeds in the mist of time,
and the Cimmeries testimonials sleep
in the obscure silence of the tumulus
like ancient relics, mighty sigils to fragile ashes.
But the choirs will thunder again Gorgot Necrod Belem.
May the Great Portal close to you.
Under the moonlight,
bitter falls a tear
over the face of memories.
Oh, shining blade!
Cut my flesh,
so that be the Sacred Fire
nourished by my vital fluid.
And you! Spirits of the Air,
leave smoke as a sign of my rite.
Stone after stone,
I create my Lucus
and so I divide
the world of human dimension
from the one of Gods.
How wonderful falling into this darkness.
Blow up the last torches
and shut up your eternal chant.
Helel Ben Shahar.
Shining Master of light,
Prince of dawn,
wipe the shadows out of my spirit,
banish weakness from my body,
give me the strangth of Power,
let my throat
be ripped up by crying My Devotion.
In my devotion the sign of Voor.
In my devotion the sword of Hathoor.
May the four elements
become my allies,
may the faith of darkness
be my weapon
and the spirit my temple.
Son of time's forces,
deter my mind
from the wicked ignorance
of the Lambs of god.
In my devotion the sign of Voor.
In my devotion the sacred Tor.
The circle of power
be a sacred place,
shield and protection
from the followers of the nazarene.
Light in the light and light in the darkness.
I seize my nature,
the five edged star adorns my breast
and my hands clutch the club.
We are wolves in the sacred wood of life.
In my devotion the sign of Voor.
In my devotion Bathym Belem Gomor.
Take me, oh ferryman,
through the vision of my death,
the heat of the Great Black Veil.
My hearse brought in slow procession
by the No Named,
my reunion with Mother Earth,
the keeper of the dreams
last turning his clepsydra,
the breaking up of the black mirror
and The Guardians of the threshold
will open the last Portal.
Let the candles burn out,
darkness consumes light,
time divours life.
My Eternal Devotion to Darkness.
Under the Sign of the Red Dragon
I raise my eyes at dead of night
I hear the silence moulding my body
I hear the damp and living ground throbbing
I belong to it.
I'm the guardian of this land,
I'm Dracula, Prince of Walacchia.
My name is synonymous with fear and terror
which I sowed and grew and which I fed on.
I led an army of dead soldiers
that I myself had raised from their graves.
I spread death and destruction.
Stifling smell of blood and excrements,
desperate cries, sobs.
Thousands of corpses rotted in the sun.
Thousands of poles rose as I passed.
My head beheaded and laid down.
The law: my law.
I was Vlad, the Impaler,
nobody could obstruct my path.
And the powerful Turks come in crowds.
And the new forest came up,
forest of fright and blood.
And the sultan of gold and silk
came with his numerous army,
thousand of persons were horribly impaled
and crowds came, crowds of enemies.
And at the end I was surrounded.
Chill, blood, horror of an irrepressible slaughter.
By then I was a prince without land.
And from the ground a whisper,
the whisper of the dead, rose:
Dracula, please, come back!
Cadaveria - Vocals
Ossian - Guitars
Flegias - Drums
Vlad - Bass
Lunaris - Keyboards
Music & Lyrics by Opera IX (c) 1998
Recorded at Cap. Woofer Studios in autumn 1997
Sound engineer Stefano Tappari
Mastering by Alberto - Elettroformati S.R.L.
Photos by Armin Linke
Graphycs by Paola Gaggiotti
Miniatures and drawing by Danilo Capua
Via Don Carra, 57
13040 Saluggia (VC)