Crom Aboo

If only we could dismember 
& by doing so put to slumber 
All memory of the bleak & bare December; 
Dread events, our souls now all the number. 
Now & 'til the fire's final ember, 
As if by rule of thumb her 
Magic forces control what we remember 
For each one thats pleasant 
Three will trump it's presence 
  
M'ultimo ¡Ojalá! 
Daimonium Fantismo 
Años de Infiernes 
La Tierra Razas