Dreaming Of Utlantean Spires
All witches fly to
I have torn the veil of dreams,
enraptured by (the gleam of) moon-frost's caress,
my heart is held in icy thrall,
the horned moon's sweet enchantment,
the topaz throne is beckoning,
the jewelled sword awaits my grasp,
the dreaming gods now grimly brood in
the silence of atlantean spires.
the sky is black with chaos-fiends,
spellcraft rides with witch-storm's wings,
beneath the vaults of time-lost tombs,
sorcerers summon the shadow-kings.
All witches fly to me
Witch of heather, moor and sea,
come lay with me as twilight falls,
grant me the black elven sword
and the draught of immortality,
