A roaring drone sound (like that of a tiger tank but sped up and more deeper) as I look at a corpse who is covered in flies (that breathes to the droning sounds). I can see the flesh in its waxy, wet state. A “Schwartzsonne” eclipses the sun and I hear the muffled voice of Douglas Pearce that keeps telling me “the severed Hand of Fate in this Iron Age” the dream then cuts to me in a very foggy mountainous landscape, but upon it the ruins of a bombed-out Berlin-esque type of city surrounds me and Fenrir bites my hand off, this time Douglas tells me “from without, from within” but in a weird way (like a cassette tape going fast and slow with that weird noise of a tape ruining) and is joined by Charles Manson who joins him in a strange cacophony that is staccato until I wake up to the sound of April (a pit-bull) snorting and snoring.
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