Feels like my wilderness has been killed somewhere,
Like everything is passing by,
My life, I'm catching nothing anymore,
Something in the distance burns, but it seems so small like firefly.
I imagine running barefoot through the woods,
I imagine listening to the drum of the oak,
Let my pain and waiting out, under the roots to soak
It's all just within my head and nothing happens.
I waited, but nothing spoke. Is spirit dead,
My fear of death, just like a smoke, in the woods that wildfire swallows,
Under the pressure of blood dripping down my arms
Into branches as hallows,
Bow and turn, bow, head thrown back and slowly getting into feeling,
Magic under the omen, cast by the rot and the healing -
Death of the moss. The branch you cut and toss.
Blood drips down your arms and mine -
This is the song. That's our thunder named shrine.
Rejoice and dive into depth. Of the deepest fear, the dark, the screams.
The divine.
