Because I know nothing

We’ll keep to ourselves mostly
We’ll never know
The world that’s around us
Of desert and snow
But one day, just maybe
We’ll take our first steps
And til then we’ll live out
Our lives, quiet and rest.

With small feet and small hands
Oh we’ll never grow
To explore, discover
What makes the world glow
Like snails in the garden
We’ll sleep all day long
And beg of your pardon
We’ve been here too long.

The rain on the window
Betrays winter dreams
The bright yellow sun dances
In golden streams
We’ll leave here, go somewhere
Where it’s all unknown
And maybe, we’ll come back
With something to show.

A little friendly advertising

Congratulations to Andrew, Ben, Joel, Adrian and Merlin for winning last night's Battle of the Bands.
Sorry I could only be there in spirit!
Keep up the great work, and continue to blow us away!
Flesh Decay are headlining at the Macleod YMCA on the 18th of July, can't wait. If you can, I highly recommend you go and support them, they're not only great musicians but top notch guys all round.
x

Justin(e): Soaked in blood

44 days.
I hate him so much.
What a cunt.
xx

En as i dype skogen

43 days and standing strong, friends.
Let's see if I'm still doing as well by day 50.
xx

Lost wisdom

I sifted through the papers, aged like torn, brown leaves scattered across autumn's damp, grassy base, and squinted at the smudged, faded letters, attempting to figure out what word they'd once spelled.

An unusually strong gust of wind found its way through the trees from the east and blew my waist-length hair across my face. My vision was completely obscured by the hair, flowing and shining like honey in the pale evening sun that was dappled across the needled forest floor. I knealt, placing the pages beneath my left knee and using both of my hands to tuck the gently waving tresses behind my ears before continuing to search the papers for something, anything. I wasn't sure. A word, not so deteriorated as the rest, caught me eye. "Ëlothrim," I read aloud, in only a hushed whisper. Fear. It was not safe to speak in a raised voice any longer, even here.

I gathered the papers and set them neatly in the leather cover from which they had fallen. I rose to my my standing height - a full 6 foot, 4 inches - and shook my hair over my shoulders. In any direction, one could see naught but trees. The ancient pines stood tightly together, leaving only small spaces through which one could pass and making it nearly impossible for any who did not know the forest Nífyrre well to travel through. The clearing in which I stood was itself only a few metres across and for the most part was ridden with thick, gnarled tree roots.

Another icy blast of wind rolled through the woods, and seemed to push what little light remained far into the southwest. The forest took on a shadowy, blue-green hue and seemed to creak, the moss and needles beneath my leather boots groaning mournfully at the peril that now lay so close to Nífyrre's vast boundaries.

To be continued.

Wodensday

A house; with a door: 1, 2, 3, 4!
Knock knock - ready to play?
What's the day? It's Wodensday!

So I've decided that every Wednesday I will have a Wodensday Warrior of the Week (note: the alliteration was unintended).
This week's Warrior is Hans Fyrste from Ragnarok and Svarttjern.

He's blonde, well-built and not afraid to get messy... a very important trait in men. Did I forget to mention he's Norwegian? That covers it all then, haha.

See you tomorrow, guys!
xx

I'm so weak

Yeah, so, it's been a day right? Right.
I'm already talking to Justin again. Right now actually.
And listening to Eminem. Whatever bitch, I do what I wannuh!
Let's fuckkkk.
xx