Lletres:
Spearhead Metal

As a beast who steals itself away at night From the fields of other fatted kine Who relishes the ripe fruit of his own distinction Without the slavering

Those who see not that sword, that?s like unto a thousand suns The diffident in arms and unaligned Who drinking from the poisoned cup of the world illusion

No lie is more endemic to this era Nor more diseased Than the lie of progression No lie is more self-aggrandising Entrenched, hostile to truth Than

In the mythoi of all worlds, in all eras In the ancient rhymes of verse, ageless and hallowed Are the pure whispers singing of the end The heart of