In the hour of the fading sun
Old songs can be heard
Over the moors in the ash and oak
Where the spirits heed their words
The lone hymns that were weaved and spun
Before the age of fern
Felt on the air by the hands of those
Whose crying hearts still yearn
Orphic rites of the mystic
Communion with the Gods
The heart is pulled in rapture
By the currents of the ocean
The fragrance of cedar passes
By lantern lit devotion
The pulse of the clamoring drum
Mimic the flames growing faster
As the spirits of night listen
And the owls surrounding answer

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