Scream unto the frozen skyline, feel the blades of wind.
Currents rend the holy wind brake; daggers sent to rend.
Tormentuous stratospheres bleed like wounds
black mother herself starts to croon.

Where is our shelter? Hopeless to find,
where track marks razor to wail and to grind.
This holy vessel, sacrosanct in nature
Mark all our souls with its own nomenclature.

This wall from the wind, most blessed of life,
is my only reprise from a spear borne of strife.
Never again shall your threats perturb,
this holiest of days which none shall disturb.