The Priestess Of The Bog
Year: 2025, running time: approx. 11 min

Tista, a mystical lady no-one really knows, is often seen wandering around the borders of a small village. Some say she’s a witch, some say a healer. She only speaks some unknown foreign language but as long as no harm is done, no domestic animals are missing, no food stolen and no children hurt, she’s left alone. What people don’t know is that there are dozens, if not hundreds of bodies buried into the near by wetlands and guess who’s the undertaker? Tista, the priestess of the bog has been digging around! But be aware, there’s a noble cause!
All the late men and women in the depths of mother earth’s wet womb are the mistfits and misunderstood ones, purest in their heart people of their time. In her great wisdom, Tista decided to preserve these poor bastards beneath the surface of the earth for a possible later use… Cut to nowadays: during the last decade a chemical plant has been built near by and is now starting to expand a bit too close to the forever graves Tista has established for the few special souls to be saved. Now it’s about the time to make a plan how to get the bodies back to the surface before someone else does…
Script & music score by Ahkiir Kungumo, photography & videography by Miska Rämö, recording & sound engineering by Manu Anttila, produced & directed by Lasse Rantanen
Tista
Get ready for it, open the gates, let her in, the queen of sin
Empty the coffins, wake the dead, resuscitate the evil, defibrillate
Dance like a merry-go-round
With rusted metal and squeaky sound
Floating in the air
The moonlight shines upon her hair
Her black dress floating in the breeze
Reveals her ivory skin
And I submit, I give in
And I submit, I give in
She gathers her tools, humming her prayers,
prepare the unction, confirmate the re-birth
Meticulous moves, caressing my skin,
Fills my empty soul, with a will to obey
Tista, Tista of the swamp
The dead shall soon march
Tista, Tista in the dark
It’s our last dance
Dance like a merry-go-round
With rusted metal and squeaky sound
Floating in the air
The moonlight shines upon her hair
Her black dress floating in the breeze
Reveals her ivory skin
And I submit, I give in (Tista, Tista…)
And I submit, I give in (Tista, Tista…)
And I submit, I give in (Tista, Tista…)
And I submit, I give in (Tista, Tista…)
Rotten Skin
You stood out from the masses like a rose with its thorns
Slowly swaying to the beat gazing through the people you see
The beauty of your presence hid the beast within
Like an angel from the heavens with a pallid skin
She dragged us from the black, nails deep in our skin
The priestess of the Bog, humming songs laced with sin
Mud in our lungs, cold light in our eyes
We staggered to our feet like the dead learning to rise
Rotten skin
The gloom is in your smile
Falling limbs
The darkness in your eyes
The Cost Of The Reanimation
She dragged us from the black, nails deep in our skin
The priestess of the Bog, humming songs laced with sin
Mud in our lungs, cold light in our eyes
We staggered to our feet like the dead learning to rise
The three of us wired with a pulse we obeyed
Each sound we unleashed pulled the lost from their graves
You came through the fog, in your mask of death
Then broke into pieces and silence was left
Rotten skin
The gloom is in your smile
Falling limbs
The darkness in your eyes
The stench of death
The red of your lips
The last of your breath
The blood, the kiss
She gave us the music
I gave you the life
We were resurrected
You died with a smile
