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    The grating noise of horned owl emphasises the dark
    My only beacon in oblivion
    Now when I'm one with this mystic web
    Wherein dimensions bled to one

    The fivefold kiss again
    The lips that seal the vow
    The feeling, that feeling

    Here I stand
    Where the witches sing their hymns
    Full of tangled allegory

    The atheme
    One of the tools of art
    Which reveals the lore
    The ancient craft
    That hides in my heart
    Acknowledged and exposed

    The pain
    Of the two initiations
    Already made sense
    It illustrates our goal
    To create a new world
    With my bare hands

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