Bogefod
Stern man on heavy throne Dark and blackened wood Seated through the night alone Bent under his hood Sitting on his seat of awe Welcoming his Maker Shadows on the last he saw Death, eternal Taker Day is dawning, man is down Sitting on his throne of fear Day is mourning, night will shine Apparitions will appear Mound of earth and mossy stone Barrow in the cold Left to rot to dust and bone Darkness, dirt and mould
Submitted by Sexy Gargoyle — Apr 25, 2025
In the misty dawn of vernal paleness Men will wander 'round the barrow's stone Feeling gusts of sudden winds and whispers Words of what the dead asserts to know chills the gushing blood of men Those who enter after dark will find this; Torolv is not resting in his grave From beyond he drenches his surroundings, covering the ground outside his cave with the carmine blood of men He will not let death contain his madness Bodies will be found on blood red ground Nature never knew such wicked badness Moor and waving heather will be drowned in the thickened blood of men
Submitted by Immortal — Apr 25, 2025
Don't come near the stony barrow Birds who rest there shriek and die You will come to end like maddened sparrow If you find yourself there, fear and fly Wraith of Torolv spreads his malice Bones are broken, lives impaired His victims will be buried in his palace In his grave of evil and decay Cattle turn to rabid creatures People fear the tearing hate No relief in desperate tales of preachers Tormented and driven to their fate
Submitted by johnmansley — Apr 25, 2025
Harnessed outside the oxes are waiting Anxious and restless, they're pulling their chains Sounds of the porous and blackened bones breaking As men carry out the noisome remains Stench from the dead is filling the open As burden so heavy is dragged into light Carriage is squeaking and bad words are spoken Oxes will carry the corpse into night A new grave is dug, meant to appease him Meant to give end to the anguish and pain Stones weighing down the atrocious and grim The burial bed of the bloodless, insane For as long as his son is alive he will sleep Giving his people the peace that they wanted But the last son will die, his dried mind will weep And his frightened environs will always be haunted
Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 25, 2025
He kills all the men he used to know, He haunts and he crazes their women. His madness and evil doings will show, In the horrendous works of a villain. His grave does not hold him, His will is too strong. "Burn him for us! Undo his wrongs!" Black like Hel, huge and loathsome, Struggled down towards the flames. Dragged down the roaring fire. "Burn in all the Devil's names!" Ashes to ashes, hear people yell. "Burn for our lost ones! Burn you to Hell!"
Submitted by Lake of Tears — Apr 25, 2025
Fog is dancing over water The grey of night is thinning Sun is touching stony alter In the day's beginning Light is playing in the dawning Shore in birdly choir Pale and dusty, silent morning Ashes from a fire
Submitted by Pestilence — Apr 25, 2025
Animals will lick the stones free of ash and salt from the raging executing fire Torolv's spirit lingers in the salty raw. Cattle drink the water, dust to dust and mud, getting mad and crazed by lurking demons. Soon there is a calf with Torolv's blood. The ox is heir to Torolv's diabolic ways, carrying his hellish torture on. People apprehend they've had their days. Leaving trails of blood, marking his domain, leaving trails of blood and loathly gore. Making sure his acts come out in pain. Evilness will still keep on, torture is preserved, darkness is the undisputed king. He will never ask what you deserve.
Submitted by Immortal — Apr 25, 2025