Teutonic Soul

German Odinson Klause, 1519-G

The Teutonic Soul, alone,
Runs aloft in herd;
To hunt alone,
By the silvery midnight sphere.
Reaching for the intended goal,
Cut off from the whole,
By choice and nature’s selected a dark soul.
My prey comes from the masses,
To cut away my victims,
Or the successors from the herd.
And to wash away the mentality,
And to pierce the flesh of natures reality.
To form the new breed,
To pursue in purity – the midnight sun
Of the Gods of our blood.
Extract the mental residue and
Purify the Sprit, Mind and Soul;
With Love of Folk, Strength and Uniqueness.
Now pierce the brain, of the chosen initiate,
Through the eye socket to scramble,
What’s been destroyed and distorted
beyond repair
This is the savage nature
Of the new Werewolf
Of the midnight sun.
Sent by nature’s racial Gods,
To set the pendulum to sway
And to set the blood scales
Of equality to
Their unbalanced natural proportions.
This must be the task of
The new Werewolf;
Who strikes in the night of our sea,
To the death chimes
Of the New Dawn.