Litany of the Death Lord

He is the completion of the circle.

His hands were shorn by Haishtoyflagos.

Below him are the fires of the forge.

Above him are the seeds of spring.

He is the completion of the circle.

His hands were shorn by Haishtoyflagos.

Inside his flesh are our fathers’ fathers.

Beneath his bones are our mothers’ mothers.

He is the completion of the circle.

His hands were shorn by Haishtoyflagos.

Tears from his eyes water our wells.

Blood from his wrists contains our crops.

He is the completion of the circle.

His hands were shorn by Haishtoyflagos.

Now the winter finds his form.

Now the spring splays his seed.

Now the summer heats his hate.

Now the autumn sings his summons.

He is the completion of the circle.

His hands were shorn by Haishtoyflagos.

Now we ask for future’s fortunes.

Now we bleed for life’s rebirth.

Now we slay with the fires of the forge.

Now we rest to dream his return.

He is the completion of the circle.

His hands were shorn by Haishtoyflagos.

---Litany of the Death Lord