Olden Days

he rises in the sombre sadness

in the silence of monastic madness

behind monolithic pillars

of churches, shrines and chapels

in the dust of age-old cathedrals

where the horrors of death shake the ground

his shadow grows in arcane castles

where secret sins gnaw the souls of gauntly lords

in the crypts where alchemysts transform

the nature of things

in the woods where magicians practice

their nocturnal arts

Sathanas is everywhere

many can see him, to many he speaks

hermits call him and we serve him

when fiery omens set the night ablaze

when stars take strange shapes

and planets bathe in blood

when we spread the seed of malediction