Is it not ironic
How your favorite dread
Is the matrix in which you were formed?
The unfathomable dark of a realm arcane
And burrowed far below

The grain sprouts deep beneath the soil
Where sunlight will never, ever, ever reach

Behold, from darkness we come
That shelter where all life is formed
Ascend, to darkness, we sail
Eternal refuge of the soul

The darkness of night goes out
When dawn befalls in the time
Between the times
And the grain in the soil, buried deep
Shall not bear fruit unless it dies
In the dark of Antumnos
The Awen waves and life is conceived

Behold, from darkness we come
That shelter where all life is formed
Ascend, to darkness, we sail
Eternal refuge of the soul
The day is born from the night
In the three night of Samon, the year is born
So the song has been sung, let him hear it, who will

Is it not ironic
How you cling so hard to all evidence of all there is
As you maintain your unbroken urge
To explain what you can't?

The child grows in its mother's womb
Enshrouded and concealed

Behold, from darkness we come
That shelter where all life is formed
Ascend, to darkness, we sail
Eternal refuge of the soul