| Is it not ironic | |
| How your favorite dread | |
| Is the matrix in which you were formed | |
| The unfathomable dark | |
| Of a realm arcane and burrowed far below | |
| The grain sprouts from deep 'neath the soil | |
| Where sunlight will never ever reach | |
| Behold | |
| From darkness we come | |
| That shelter where all life is formed | |
| Ascend | |
| To darkness we sail | |
| Eternal refuge of the soul | |
| The darkness of night goes out | |
| When dawn befalls in the time between the times | |
| And the grain in the soil, buried deep | |
| Shall not bear fruit unless it dies | |
| In the dark of Antumnos | |
| The Awen waves and life is conceived | |
| The day is born from the night | |
| In the three night of Samon the year is born | |
| So the song has been sung | |
| Let him hear it who will | |
| Is it not ironic | |
| How you cling so hard | |
| To all evidence of all there is | |
| As you maintain your unbroken urge | |
| To explain what you can't | |
| The child grows in its mother's womb | |
| Enshrouded and concealed |
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