Jääkissa - Winter Leopardian Romance and Hunger "I always thought I loved animals. Then I discovered that I enjoyed killing people even more." - Francisco Scaramanga Written by Wolfram Winterfur, a big, white cat under the wolfish cloak. It has been twenty-three evenings, twelve moons and two thousand and one cycles of seasons since the miscalculated year one certain jewish human was born. If humans of the future will call this currently passing era anything other than the age of themselves, I'll resign. About the sixth track... I do am aware of some former mayhemers' views. The song isn't supposed to be realistic (or even romantic) in every possible way. The whole "dew" album could be considered as "only a piece of art" (or only a little piece of a little, loopy story torn apart). Could be. Still, we leopards, no matter how white and grim, can't be very Aryan. I consider such things as human stuff. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Felid Dew 0. I made you, my cat. Die, visitors. (December, 1000) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Il faut que Peau du Feu le Renard Creve 1. I'm _not_ searching for another ochre midwinter dream I'm not going to find another cat as Death's reprieve Only because this little tale is true And in tales too true she's not my cat and I'm not her wolf But as we all should know A tale is true as long as everyone believes in it So a fox gal called snow Enchants this otherwise a little dry saga a bit (For certain sagas should always be colourful as hell And when you mix all the colours together which one of them is left?) Not that I was the one who of the realm infernal is about to tell For this was a true story, and in my truth there's nothing after Death But I do am telling about this fox with a name of the snow She sees me as one of her kind and this is new to me, too Fortunately it's just one quite weird thing more for the girl whose beliefs towards this could make it very cruel Instead, she made this rather true ... So tales and sagas turn into acts and plays Evenings are filled with certain type of craze With the cat I never wrought anyfight like this The evening is about to reach some catharsis When he casts his eyes down, he'll fry Tonight... Fox Firefur must die (December, 1000) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- I Love My Murderer 2. In the midst of the night (like heard a hrair times before) In the weeds lies a fox tied tight Fur drenched in blood and gore Beaten by his own enemies Not elil but the playful few He listens silently amongst the trees The rest is transient pleasure Mere reddish forestyard as his view They might come back... Oh, but they will come back! Only he knows the path Romance, always so fatal to find Her Tharn already, for them nothing to show Still protecting his love, wounded and mortal Desecrated even, this way it's good to go And then, only a moment after There's an angrily uttered threat He curses their names By his former significant other Not giving an inch of clue And a gun pointed to his head And the more silent he stays the more the blood stains Suddenly the drama is through Being not the weirdest thing that instead of nightly drama it was a farce of morning with everyfur giving their spirits to the play The March where no one was left behind to decay (December, 1000 to March, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Überwald 3. There, the chronicles of Caine let her find on her best As 'an ancient, misanthropic Norwegian cat of the forest' Whispering: "LA MEG DÖ!", loudly enough to break fantasies She ends her words to find the prolonged pain suddenly eased If she only had a god... ["Mutter! Blut..! Blut!"] ...would she feel touched, fingered, Embraced [now only the latter] Caine's little gift for the crazed Such vamp now being a cat witch for pleaseful necks Meaning a ghoul to drain for rarely it's vanilla, vampire sex Some more cat script writers could've made a repartee To let this little feling-thing suffer "free" Soulsucked vamp, the cat who mostly cared about hugs Now a mean slave made of rare flesh for filthy fucks If she only had a dog... [to see through this crimson fog...] ...could she rest beside him furled, saved from damnation not from this world (April to May, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- A Cat on My Grave 4. [she] I merely masturbate on your grave for wasn't this only a catnap of a play.... More real necrophiles don't have to pretend having sex with some other than a friend Still... With yours mine 'life' ("Hell, get a knife!") should have come to the end Now I've got a paw I will lend If I had a soul It sure wouldn't belong to their jew god Grisly for them it will be, my goal To die only after shedding much more hu-man blood And for you this little thing I owe Like legions could've promised to legions To kick down their stones Let them never be stained in alien religions... I will slit the throats of a hundred cross-wielding Jesus' lamb creatures (He died for his sins And so shall they, for do I always win) As an Archanger for them I shall do my most malignant harvest I shall be afraid... but die only in mayhem Sleep in thy grave... I'll take care of the rest! (September to October, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Repola 5. [Instrumental ("Tänään on hyvä päivä aloittaa kolmas maailmansota")] (October, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Recreating Auschwitz (among other little recreations) 6. August as an Aryan deed Prosperous, anti-Semite Thoughts of the replete Aryan breed Longing for the ancient Europa hasn't died Listen to our hearts, they are black In kind of memory of Dead and Euronymous Like Oskorei would the horde attack to see again the old murder proudly rouse Their foreign god couldn't eradicate the paganism in us! That piece of architecture of their religion and death shall be taken to the once noble ground On the top of the hill of despair they'll get wrecked, (To flames shall their icon succumb) without a way down Unless they jump.... "As someone once said, 'let the church light the way', and no better way to find your path than by the light of a burning church." (a quote) New Hitler-Jugend for Judaism Rest, putrefacient, grime race To the kill without rebaptism Judeo-christianity should be erased Still, we're no gods, only men "The Holocaust never happened" But Jews, to the ovens with them "...and it should happen again" (Note... to extend the xenophobia and prefer misanthropy) (October, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Made of Fox 7. Across the acorns, branches and leaves her drawings, she leaves claiming that Lovecraft was a furry Very old eerie feeling it leaves, the look in her eyes, very Damn well she knows and uses the love I did bury - one certain tigress and the atmosphere that'll live like in one certain elf in his crypt, before even the gate beyond the skies... I kneel Cat of a mountains, goat on the hills, Glendronach on the rocks Only the muzzles prevent our eyes from the ghostlily touch It's so clear now as nothing else is, she's made of fox Young blood, not Caine but Holmes' cocaine Refuelling fantasies, exploiting the distress, my pain She would even tie for me, but do I love her! The little teen-angst girl as a lover... (perfect) Beautiful as any burnt flower I feel the kiss of the frost draped fox The tide of passion holds me high Muzzle unto muzzle, then come the mocks and swiftly are we ready to die I feel the claws of the little wicked girl Over her I whimper and dive Wound for a wound I think and we swirl And kiss and scratch and we bite But fox of my world, hear me now Under the snow leopard moon if you could wander, I must ask you how? Even the cat who took the wolf out of me and craved for death each night Couldn't together live as free for, as you know, she has died [almost succesfully, she tries her best to hide her tears....] Oh fux. (October, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gods of the Ancient Northmen 8. The land, a big Octoberian-shaded grave Where christlings spat little murder rain An autumn fox, only fox and an exile To die from her with at least a try of a style First sighs of the snow that seems Logick that phantomed the dying teens Northwarden and the long ago demise My dear canid beast, it is Autumn twice! While abloom the church arson decorations Nobody expects the French grave desecrations Between Satania and Balder, goth-girl heathen And my fox mate asks should we eat her... Lost forgotten sad skyhighs blackened fell Lonely funeral fire, fallen Gabrielle In the dusk she never feared the night Even centuries before she went sci-fi Strangehold in meadow-soft sleep Mountain snow moon like dreaming deep Thundercast stone, thundercats' misfit Unbridled, she's foxgloved (and proud of it!) (October, 1001) Leopard magic in the archaic course Thunder in the snowstorm, tours-de-force Tailwished and stürmisch, that's what I am But shift happens, as in a were-creature's damn A snow-covered she once awoke for blue evening feelings that dripped like felid dew She was told that all cats lead to the truth But she became the knight with a sad figure They spoke misshapen words about good, evil They spoke of deadly winters before god, devil "Everything, my dear, you believe is a lie... You were always the girl who loved Powerglide" (December, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Most Beautiful Suicide Ever 9. [she "between these"] All glory to the nature that can produce such beautiful creatures... "A carbon based messiah carbon copy Cold Prometheus logic in cold steel Role playing to the point of lycanthropy Another (anti-)christ to kill" ...Who can commit such beautiful suicides "They as shepherds 'blessed' their own kind An agape feast to leash their daughters They drank blood of christ as blood-red wine, but the anti-christ made the wine turn into water" Seems she always loses... "Mischa and Hannibal (ad portas) once arose Like a doggess of an angelcunt for me Now dead and in a piece of nostalgia purpose No wonder my lips tasted so death-sweet" A fifteen-year old lovely... "If the lambs, instead of Jesus, ate my flesh I wonder, would they then see the truth ...or be poisoned in deceases from the lifeless After all, my meat means murder (and murder is good)" All glory to her (fox girl)... Who has the possibility to commit the most beautiful suicide ever "[a gentle, little sigh]" [...and a gentle, little hug] And, according to christian laws, even has the ability to be dead eternally (wouldn't that just... rock) (November, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The End By Moonlight 10. A shadow, a ghost Yet flesh as the host Pawful of weak disasters that leave no death, only dying The essence of the li(f)e grows Enlightening scales it goes This very night I feel it could be mine Invisible to those on the ground And those "above" just decline and surround... (help me... to murder) Anytime I could be there (As the dusk as a she goes blackher) With You, as though you did care The certainess lives within Unnecessary is bare living I have do something more I want to kill us all By now I should be writing of an end And I should swear it is to be violent Not only killing based on free arts (But also refusal to get blocked by cathedrals) I am dying soon And when I gaze into the Moon I see more than just an evident place All this is dis And soon. (November, 1001 (yet based on lyrics from the far past) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (outro) Kettu Tuliturkin ...suru 11. Yearning those primordial romances to be true With the lady who always made him cry Would she ever ask, he would answer "I do" But only to the question "do you want to die?" (December, 1001) ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- (encore) Synkät päivät, synkkä jumala 12. "Breath from the dead bird bag, little sister Let this dusk of Anguish get a little more Sinister" Such pity Would it get so pretty His holyness up high addicted to the flames Nostalgia It is about the year A decade from Fantoft in it's darkest fame Burning priests like witches not long ago Nor pissing on the tombs make but more faith to the cross... Nowadays it's hard to desecrate Acts of war, tasty but still little foul While every torn christling is a victory, it's still a loss... Even if it feels a win to me "Oh Snow, lend me a tail and I promise I shall always be in Love with You(r every part that humans miss) Should we rape each other in the wintery woodland by open starlight ...right about now? You won't let me but to follow your essence and drown..." Smell the air of those glorious eves one more time, little sister Let this little church's Funeral sink into your mind as your Strongest vista (December, 1001) -----------------------------------------------------------------------------