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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