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When the dying western sun dips low |
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And the raincloud rises in the east |
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Between the lines of truth and the words of faith |
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Lie the fiery duties of the priest |
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Stir the blood of ancient things |
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Drawing down the moon |
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From the hill of Tarna see the Beltane fires |
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And the silent Celtic kings await |
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From the midnight hour to the light of dawn |
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Feel the mountain tremble and your heart will shake |
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Stir the memories of the stones |
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We are drawing down the moon |
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In the circle of the old ways |
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Of the wicker man |
|
Wicker man, wicker man |
|
From the beacon hill |
|
cast your fire on this land |
|
Wicker man, wicker man |
|
From the beacon hill |
|
throw your ashes on our hands |
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Let the pendulum go |
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Let it sway away |
|
Let the chimes ring out |
|
On this solstice day |
|
When the earth renews |
|
When the seed reveals |
|
When we are reborn |
|
Every waking dream |
|
When the earth renews itself |
|
When the seed reveals itself |
|
When the earth renews itself |
|
When the seed reveals itself |
|
When we are reborn |
|
In every waking dream |
|
Every tree and leaf |
|
Every frozen stream |
|
When the earth renews itself |
|
When the seed reveals itself |
|
When we are reborn |
|
In every waking dream |
|
Every tree and leaf |
|
Every frozen stream |
|
When the earth renews itself |
|
When the seed reveals itself |
