Inga stjarnor ser jag lysa här, vilka malare sina verk här färgar?

As promised, I'm goint to talk about today. You know, you may call me a superstitious bastard but in time I've realized I've got some sort of special feelings, senses, that make me experience life in quite an interesting manner. Now... some know I'm heathen, and it's not only due to reenacting Swedish vikings... it just happened before and in a way Germany's to blame...

Anyhow, the matter that I wanted to talk about is the days of the week. Now in heathen Europe, the Germanic part especially, the dasy of the week had the names of their heathen gods. Now the worst part for me is Tuesdays, the days of Tiw or Týr, the one-handed god of war, binder of Fenrir. Now I don't know if it's me or actually Týr's day possess some magic... but I dread them. The worst things have nearly always happened on Tuesdays. (Now you may call me superstitious). I woke up today and felt a strange vibe, and yeah, it's been a Tuesday... but things actually didn't go that wrong. It's just that a plan-changer swung by and pop went the weasel. But news from afar have reached me, and there again that tuesdaysy vibe... I sniff and it smells weird...

However, this week has still nice surprises for me in store, but the best part is I'll be again sort of in contact with my other life while in front of a pyre while the cold late fall wind tries to peel my face in an icy caress.

Last but not least, I hate you brother. And I love you as well, I do. I just hate how you can get into my head without even knocking and how you know what's in it. 27 years dealing with rats to end up seeing what sort of dog I am... My closest are rats... and they belong to the enemy Trine, my complete opposites. I, the dog, am my own master.

(Ångestens Högborg by Thyrfing)

I en kvalmfylld andlig öken har jag sett dem gå
Drabbade av själasoten, hågloösa, med ilska I synen
Det är som sorgen aldrig skulle lämna deras ögon
Som om sinnet hade svarinat för evigt

Sammanträngda på ytor små
Lager på lager (I boningar grå) I ångestens högborg
Under jorden hastar de - jägande sökande: ingenting finnande
Varför stannar de aldrig upp?

Innan nuer fredliga gömma finner
I susand lundar ivingas även ni till vila
Inte in stillsam undran - en rasande fråga
Varför stannar ni aldrig upp?

Oändlict upplyst - fär alltid höljd I mörker
Inga stjarnor ser lag lysa här
Vilka skalder dikta I denna dimma? Vilka malare sina verk här färgar?
Oändligt upplust - för alltid höljd I mörker
Inga stjarnor ser jag lysa här
Vilka malare sina verk här färgar?