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 cromlec’h
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?