I beheld her, the bane-witch.
Barefoot upon unhallowed earth,
cloaked in robes as black as pitch,
her locks a nest of hissing serpents.
her flesh pale with deathly toil.
By her side, Sagana cried unto the winds,
as clawéd fingers rended the soil
with wrathful zeal.
The lamb was rent asunder.
Its blood, still warm,
was pourèd into the pit,
where silence dwelleth.
and the bones keep memory.
Two effigies they bore:
one of wax, to kneel and perish,
and one of wool, to wield the curse.
The waxen thrall did melt in dread,
the woolen lord did bind in wrath.
Then rose the flame
kindled with roots of venom and rot:
the funerary cypress,
the owl’s foul plume,
toad’s spawn daubed in sacrificial blood,
caprifigs torn from tombs,
Iberian poisons and Iolcan herbs,
and bones, fresh-gnawn
from the jaws of the night-hound.
“Nel cuore della notte scavò,
e con erbe d’inferno legò
la voce dei vivi
al respiro dei morti.”
Veia, with no remorse, did labor,
her spade carving into cursed clay.
And there they laid the child,
his head alone above the loam
as one who swims with breath but drowning.
Vocatum mortuorum - et responderunt.
Ashes whisper still.
The pit doth breathe.
And in the hollow dark
they rise.
Other lyrics by Opera IX:
Asphodelios
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Black Sabbath
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Defixiones
I carve your name into lead, blood and iron merging with my wrath. Every stroke drags your soul deeper into the void where the dead scream. I curse you with fire in my …
Gratidia
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Hortus Sagae
In the breathing garden, where roots remember names older than fire, the air folds in on itself. Something stirs beneath the soil of night. Herbs marked by wandering …