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The north wind blows, from the arctic grim cold. These ancient moors to be reclaimed by my ancient throne, alone upon open moors snow falls over me. The growing wonder of solitude, of winters cold grimmness.

Finally becoming part of the earth and reclaiming the throne, from humanities grip.  Christians made the mistake of having dominion over nature, the fools were wrong.  Nature takes care of its own wild feral bloody and savage,  something christianity has never understood.

I welcome the end of days, so nature can reclaim its ancient throne.  Woodlands & forests free of aeons of destruction, let things be free the natural order of a forest covered earth.  Mountains & fells who watch in silence, the archaic esoteric knowledge that humanity has never known.

I lie upon the earth dead and alone being reclaimed enshrined forever in this ancient lore.