Magic And Mayhem
Hey, there tiny wench
My perpetual serf
Put stew in a pot
Bring water for the guest

Before we part
Before your neck is broken
You strike first
Son of the north

Vulgar Necrolatry
Erosion of life I see
It makes the passion burn in me
Life it always withers away
Death will eternally stay

Corpses in their coffins
Forever rest in peace?
There sleeping with the aspergillums
Is this justice to the dead?

The atrocious sight of burial ceremony
Christians weeping for the departed
They won't understand they should envy them!

The deceased they know if there's a paradise
Or shall we feel the purgatory!
I open the graves admire the rot
I can feel the presence of something beyond

Aureole of nauseating reek
Wings of shriveled skin
Holy beauty of a carcass
Divine sight for me to gaze upon!

Necrolatic! Reverence for putrefaction
Necrolatic! Reverence for the stench

I kneel before a carrion
I pray before the dead
I know they shall rise
I fear for the scourge
I revere power of the dead

Into Hiding
The islander slips into hiding
And takes to his heels
Out of dark Northland
The murky house of Sara
He whirled out of doors as snow
Arrives as smoke in the yard
To flee from bad deeds

There he had to become someone else
He must change his shape
As an eagle he swept up
Wanted to soar heavenward
The sun burnt his cheeks
The moon lit his brows

Black Winter Day
This is how the lucky feel
How the blessed think
Like daybreak in spring
The sun on a spring morning
Like the flat brink of a cloud
Like a dark night in autumn

But how do I feel
In my gloomy depths?

A black winter day
No, darker than that
Gloomier than an autumn night

On Rich And Poor
Old folk remember
And those today learn
How before their time
Life was different here

Without the sun people lived
Groped about without the moon
With candles sowing was done
Planting performed with torched

At the time we lived
Without the sunshine
Who had covered up our sun
And who had hidden our moon?

Without the moonlight stumbled
With our fists fumbled the land
With our hands we sought out roads
With hands roads, with fingers swamps

We could not live without the sun
Nor manage without moonlight
We could seek out the sun
Who spy out the moon?
Who else if not God
The One Son of God?

Exile Of The Sons Of Uisliu
A wave the sound of Noisiu's voice
His singing was ever sweet
Noisiu's grave has now been made
And the accompaniment was mournful

For him, I poured out, hero of heroes
The deadly drink that killed him

Dear, his short shining hair
A handsome man even very beautiful

Dear, the grey eyes that women loved
Fierce they were foes

The Castaway
A bird flew out of Lapland
An eagle from the North East

One wing ruffled the water
And the other swept the sky
It's tail skimmed the sea

It flutters, it glides
It looks, it turns around

Why man are you in the sea
Fellow among the billows?

Song Of The Troubled One
What the thrush toils at
The partridge asks for
The hapless one takes
The troubled one steals

Puts upon a spade
Sets on a runner
Hides under a door
Shields with a bath-whisk

The farmer hammers
And tempers his spears
Marries off his sons
Hands out his daughters
In boots clogged with clay
In fancy mittens

The sea-swell rumbles
And the winds it blows
And the king hears it

From five miles away
From six directions
From seven back woods
From eight heaths away

Signs From The North Side
True Celtic power
From the cape of Cornwall
Cry of hope, angels cry
This was omen, our sign, prediction

In this proud land I grew up strong
My tears are flowing all around
The wind is twisting my sorrow
I still believe in truth and hate

Distant gate, gothic grave
Through ages our clan still remain

All through my life I have carried our ring
The omen - all this was the fragment from my life

In this proud land I was born alone
I was taught to fight, taught to win

They told me the way of steel and secret
I am the unburied child without a name, without fate
I fight for peace and love, I am reborn

Drowned Maid
I went to wash at the shore
I went to bathe in the sea
And there I a hen was lost
I a bird untimely died

Let not my brother
Ever in this world
Water his war-horse
Upon the seashore!

Waters of the sea
So much blood of mine
Fishes of the sea
So much flesh of mine

Such the death of the young maid
End of the fair little hen

Against Widows
The Devils weds a widow
Death another's leftovers
Better to lie on a willows
Rest on alder boughs

Then upon a widow's bed
On a used woman's pillow
Sweeter the side of a fence
Then a widow's flank

Softer the side of a grove
Than a widow's beside is

The Devil weds a widow
The grave one twice wed
A widow's hand is rougher
Than a dry spruce bough

With which she strikes the playful
Grabs the one who laughs
A widow has had her games
And spent a merry evening

My Kantele
Truly they lie, they talk utter nonsense
Who say that music reckon that the kantele
Was fashioned by a God
Out of a great pike's shoulders
From a water-dog's hooked bones
It was made from the grief
Moulded from sorrow

Its belly out of hard days
Its soundboard from endless woes
Its strings gathered from torments
And its pegs from other ills

So it will not play, will not rejoice at all
Music will not play to please
Give off the right sort of joy
For it was fashioned from cares
Moulded from sorrow