Description
I often go in bitter nights
To Wotan's oak in the quiet glade
With dark powers to weave a union ...
The runic letters the moon makes with its magic spell
And all who are full of impudence during the day
Are made small by the magic formula!
They draw shining steel ... but instead of going into combat
They solidify into stalagmites.
So the false ones part from the real ones ...
I reach into a nest of woods
And then give to the good and just
With my formula blessings and prosperity.
Technical Data
| Size 80mm |
|---|
