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As I traverse these hills
I see the forest, black
The wounds on my hands
They release a deluge
That seeds the ground
Dripping down
To the bones
Hidden between
The rocks and the roots
I cover endless ground
In an endless wood
My fingertips begin to tingle
Hair on my neck stands
A battle horn blares
I see it watching me through the witch’s window
I see it in the sky
I see it crawling from the ground
To sit upon the solemn throne
And break apart the graven seal
And the seven words I read,
“Rejoice! For your selfish god is dead”
As I travel this mountainside
I hear the ancient ones
Still echoing from a witch’s hollow
The old gods still live in these cairns
Still speak through the wind
Still vibrate the bones
The smell of oak,
The touch of willow,
A taste of ash