The Spell of Grógaldr

Divine me o’ witch the shaman’s whore
Thou hath huddled long enough
Tarry within this cave no more
Come, behold the win-some war
Son to child, father to lord
They speak no words
Yet they rise
Even as they bleed to the core

Come witches three
Raise me an army
Spare not sacrifices
Nor thanksgiving
To the ancient gods
Chant the appeals to the ancient
Entreat the wrath of spectres
Hungry for bodies
To carry their diseases

Chants and incantations
Ululates through the air
Gangrenous poisons
In the freshest of skies
Rain thee down to the ghosts
Below and rise them
From catatonia
To ravish the land and inhabitants
My army, of the dead
Will endure forever….

O wisps of evil
O legions of imps
O ravenous nothingness
Enter the fallen
And fight again.