By the Priory of Wilmington, long now gone, is the path to another
plane. Where the 'Long Man' stands as a sign to all that the old gods
still remain. Caught between two worlds he stands - to mark rituals
of old. A giant calling ancient ones, in chalk lines marked bold.
Above the man, a strange terrain of honey-combed hollowed hills. Where
the darkest creatures ply their trade in the cause of human ills. Do not
walk up onto the mount when the full moon is on the rise, for the folk from
under come about, whom our forefathers did despise.
Calling on winds from the furrowed mount, opening the doors to the other
side. Long barrow graves, whose years we cannot count, which the 'Long
Man' stands astride. Not staves, but planes he stands between;
the world that lies beyond.
Long Man of Wilmington! Cast your ancient spell!
Long Man! Strong Man! Bar the doors to Hell!
A dark coven gathers upon the mount, to renew the sacred bond.
The time is nigh to sacrifice, when the high priest doth raise the wand.
Fire on the hill in the midst of night, does signal the dark one's delight.
Long Man of Wilmington! Cast your ancient spell!
Long Man! Strong Man! Bar the doors to Hell!
Long Man of Wilmington!
Doth rise!
Long Man of Wilmington
Old Forest
