![The Sun has returned, cast a shadow in the stone,for the feast of blood, knife of the black mirrorfeast of flesh, feast of grain, to them its all the samesince the golden one went to the place belowand with their soul, did they sow, with our blood, did it growwhen our mother returned his seed to mortal realmReturn the land, heal the maize, untangle the silk withinRemember, the blood to be spilled, and prepare for whats to comeIn front of foe, you must growas those that came beforefaced lords of time and deathall can be faced with breathBe encircled by your brethren, and the sorority of eternityat the solstice hearth or through these hymns for wintercenter thyself, on what is, and its echo, from long agowitness the profane become the sacred as the memory returnsand the hearthwood is consumed, and the waters begin to boiland the ancient aroma, fills the air, though tainted,with invaders flesh, this ritual restores our soil,but only through our toil, will the mother be made anewSo, For the Sun and the Rain, bless our scourges' painAnd may their cries remind us, we are all the sameHands that would do us harmgrasp at air, lifelessfrom within the stewing pot of celebrationthe feasting on our foes brings us closeand chips away at that which dulls the bladeTheir sacrifice tills the soil for plantingLet us match their sobs, with the songs we will singtil then, let the kernels' churn and the fires burntheir bones, to the mortar and the pestleto thicken the boiling brothAs the mountain of plantain leaves is consumedMay the flesh be blessed and entombedshrouded, by the leaves and bound in twineand cast into the steam, where in its vapor holdsthe supernal memory of the matriarchs, they who have alwayskept the hearthfire, of the old gods, alive.Honoring, whether they know it or not, the suns' riseover the third temple, in the lost world,its echo felt, in their labor over the feastfor centuries, on repeatBlood Kernel CultOur Flesh In the PotOur God is our CropHail the wheel of timeHail the workers, the crimeOur god we will grindtheir lords, we will findon the flesh we will feastits ritual, eternityall partake so casually...]()
The Sun has returned, cast a shadow in the stone,
for the feast of blood, knife of the black mirror
feast of flesh, feast of grain, to them its all the same
since the golden one went to the place below
and with their soul, did they sow, with our blood, did it grow
when our mother returned his seed to mortal realm
Return the land, heal the maize, untangle the silk within
Remember, the blood to be spilled, and prepare for whats to come
In front of foe, you must grow
as those that came before
faced lords of time and death
all can be faced with breath
Be encircled by your brethren, and the sorority of eternity
at the solstice hearth or through these hymns for winter
center thyself, on what is, and its echo, from long ago
witness the profane become the sacred as the memory returns
and the hearthwood is consumed, and the waters begin to boil
and the ancient aroma, fills the air, though tainted,
with invaders flesh, this ritual restores our soil,
but only through our toil, will the mother be made anew
So, For the Sun and the Rain, bless our scourges' pain
And may their cries remind us, we are all the same
Hands that would do us harm
grasp at air, lifeless
from within the stewing pot of celebration
the feasting on our foes brings us close
and chips away at that which dulls the blade
Their sacrifice tills the soil for planting
Let us match their sobs, with the songs we will sing
til then, let the kernels' churn and the fires burn
their bones, to the mortar and the pestle
to thicken the boiling broth
As the mountain of plantain leaves is consumed
May the flesh be blessed and entombed
shrouded, by the leaves and bound in twine
and cast into the steam, where in its vapor holds
the supernal memory of the matriarchs, they who have always
kept the hearthfire, of the old gods, alive.
Honoring, whether they know it or not, the suns' rise
over the third temple, in the lost world,
its echo felt, in their labor over the feast
for centuries, on repeat
Blood Kernel Cult
Our Flesh In the Pot
Our God is our Crop
Hail the wheel of time
Hail the workers, the crime
Our god we will grind
their lords, we will find
on the flesh we will feast
its ritual, eternity
all partake so casually...
4 months ago
