Svarta Pisten

The snow cannons have spoken
The slope is pristine
Like a freshly waxed floor
In the biting cold Nordic winter
A ritual ski journey takes shape
Right around midnight at twelve

A razor-sharp ski pole is raised
In the midwinter night’s expanse
Piercing the body of a Christian lift operator
In triumph, we tighten our boots
Weak blood stains the eternal snow
In the silence at the top of Åreskutan

Without any fear, in quiet disdain for God
I throw myself down the slopes
Ski goggles on
I’m geared up for battle
Wearing a Dark Throne beanie and Lovika mittens

Father… Satan… guide me through the slalom gate
To… victory… in the true winter sport

Souls of blasphemy
Hear a haunting chant
In the darkness of the downhill run
No one survives a fool
No Jesus Christ… on our black slope
No Jesus Christ… on our black slope

Black… slope… baptize my body in snow and blasphemy
Black… slope… lead my soul to eternal après-ski

This pagan winter
Kept for the obscure ones
No off-piste skiing will be too hard for us
No Jesus Christ… on our black slope
No Jesus Christ… on our black slope