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My Wall
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Sunn O)))
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1
And I do walk upon Wan's Dyke
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And I do survey the land
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And I did become the Reaper with my own bare hands+
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For I am Wodan,
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Though, some call me Hermes,
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Some call me Roman Mercury,
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God of cargos,
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God of weather,
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Hanging God of boundaries,
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Hanging God of Gibbet Hill
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Killing God of hidden doorways.
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Spinning the yarn from Wansdyke to Silbury
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Spinning the taelbook, telling the tale
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Telling the tellbook to all and sundry
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Keltiberians and Irish Gael
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Then I hear camp followers bellow afar
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Their shrieking lament for Johnny Guitar:
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"Look to the farthest far horizon
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Look to the bloodlust deepest scar
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Look to the scattering Brythonic uprising
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For this be the wall of Johnny Guitar
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There be the ditch that you shall die in
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Here be the wall that I shall cry on
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Ditch dug with antler and ox bone shovel
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This rising wall that shades our ancient hovel."
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Look to the north a quick mile yonder
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Look to our Yggdrasilbury
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Look to the Saxon chasing Viking
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Look to the Norman chasing Saxon
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Look to the German chasing German
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German German German German
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Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
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For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
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"Play your gloom axe Stephen O'Malley
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Sub bass clinging to the sides of the valley
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Sub bass ringing in each last ditch and combe
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Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom."
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To rage in sound this valiant despair
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Doom and gloom as each a splendid pair
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To rage in sound the valiant despair:
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Not Abraham,
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Not Moses
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And not Christ
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Neither Jove to whom we sacrificed,
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Not Attis
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Not Mohammed,
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But to hilltop Thor
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We rave and dance and weep and we implore:
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Look to the farthest far horizon
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Don't blame the messenger,
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Don't blame the messenger,
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Look to the farthest far horizon
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Don't blame the messenger.
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Don't blame the messenger,
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For I am Death so Ragnarock with me
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For I am Doom so Ragnarock with me.
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And I stood upon Wan's Dyke
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And I did survey the land
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And I did become the Reaper with my own bare hands...
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And then I was King Vikar with his arms outstretched
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And then I was King Vikar with his broken neck
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And then I was the villain and the victim and the priest
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Was grim misunderstanding and was grim as death itself
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My Wall My Wall caught in the thrall of my Wall
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My Wall My Wall caught beneath the thrall of my Wall.
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Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
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For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
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Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
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For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
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Play your gloom axe Stephen O'Malley
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Sub bass ringing the sides of the valley
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Sub bass climbing up each last ditch and combe
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Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom.
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall of my tidal wall
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Mothers to your bosoms,
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Grab your child and sing,
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As to your breasts cascade and sing:
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Brothers and fathers,
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Down to the thing in the middle of the town
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To judge at the thing
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These the effeminate priests of Frey
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That don their drag
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And shriek through the day
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That drag their God through the muddiest fields
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Spilling seed to raise the yields
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These the odd castrated womb-men
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On this onerous land of no men
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There the infernal priestess of Freyja,
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These her people layer on layer
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Then the infernal priestess of Freyja
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Visiting the farms
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The seething seer
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Visiting the farms
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And rarely leaving
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Mounting the tumulus
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The people grieving
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Dodens doddering dead and dying.
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Hear the modest priests of Ing
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Who's harkening always let us sing
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That let's us free our tightest waistband
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Let's us fertilise our own land
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Spunked entire nations from one phallus
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Spunked the vegetation into being
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Spilled the super seed into the one day superceded earth.
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Old Mother Fucker
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She was a cocksucker
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To give her poor family a home
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Went down on their ding song
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And drank for a sing song
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But ended her sad life alone.
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Around the church in Yatesbury the dead
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Lie scattered underneath the sacred yew
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As Sheila the Witch attending Sunday prayer
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Praises a God but never tells them who
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And from my Wall observing Sheila the Witch
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Praises her God but never explaining which.
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And every Monday night by the light of Moon
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Those Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
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And the heavy metal of the heathen bells
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Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
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And the bad heavy metal of the heathen bells
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Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
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And the heavy metal of the heathen bells
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Meddlesome meddlesome meddlesome bells
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And the bad heavy metal of the heathen bells
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And Doggen can testify to my claim
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That the Christians of Yatesbury are Christian in name
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But their stomping pounding actions attest
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To their Christianity happiest at rest
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And Doggen who played at the John Stewart Hall
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Can attest that its keeper is the heathenest of all
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Is a shapeshifter tending to her hogweed hidden
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And her dear Paul wallows in the village pond nay midden
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For all of us are boundaried by Wan's Dyke at the west
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And the great world hill which spies us and can never let us rest
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Bringing on Iranian Mithra
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From its home beneath the east
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Caught always in the thrall of my Wall
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Caught always in the thrall of my Wall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall of my wall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall of my wall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall
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Stand in the thrall of my wall
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Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
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For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
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Here in the bloodlust deeper scar
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For here be the wall of Johnny Guitar
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Play your gloom axe Stephen O'Malley
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Sub bass ringing the sides of the valley
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Sub bass climbing up each last ditch and combe
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Greg Anderson purvey a sonic doom...
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Don't blame the messenger of gloom,
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Don't blame the messenger of doom,
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For this be the Ragmarockingest aeion
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In stillness O'Malley and Anderson play on... play on... play on...
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