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Prologue:

Mother, you’ll be pleased to know that I am home again under the trees.
In divine nature, of where I forever longed return throughout my great despondence.
My entire youth, I engulfed myself in the ramblings of Milton, Shelley, Nietzsche and Eliot.
It is of credit to such minds for my romantic return to the earth and soil.
I no longer asphyxiate on city smog or contradicted ideals.
In fact, I am no longer mandated to respire at all.
The roots hold me tight now under this tranquil oak and hydration is unremitting.
For I left this earth.
I left this earth and its fragile paradigm, its seething hate, its feral un-wanting.
If thy longing to meet once more begs thee, you can find me in the grove, under the spade and slackened twine.
For Satan carries a pitchfork but no rake and hides no remains.

Australian Black Metal

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