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Belgian Eclectic Barbaric Metal Band

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Grim were the curses from a raven wry;
Upon the ruins of a peaceful village,
Raided and a prey to brutal pillage,
The peasant's cry was echoed through the sky.
Haunted by hatred he would gods defy,
As tragic fate thus drew him from poor tillage;
Now he would but live for sanguine spillage --
Greedy for sweet vengeance -- and to die.

A magick sword, spell-forged by Elven hand,
Revealed through yonder baneful, ashen air,
In awful charm before his feet did land;
Soft tears, now reddened, made him ghastly glare:
Enthralling sadness did with wrath repand;
So innocence would fade and bloodlust flare...

By Skidvar Skaldr (2001)

last update: December 2004