In My Oaken Chest

The shape of our wolrd is carred
by this monument of everlasting purity
a symbol that withstand all of our threats
so fathomless vast and old, an unmutable voice
the uncrowned king of ancient gods.

The growing structure of purest power
reaching far beyond our spiritual abyss
the guardian of all crawlings beings
a shining monilith in the witless days.

In my oaken chest i fell it pound
with the thunderous sound of raging storms
In my oaken chest i fell it thrive
on the blooming ruins of mine.

In it`s shadow the age of aesirs was born
nourished with the nectar of counsciousness
the shore of a pitch-black stream
spreads among it`s neverending roots.

In my oaken chest i fell it pound
with the thunderous sound of raging storms
In my oaken chest i fell it thrive
on the blooming ruins of my figth.