The glow of a midnight moon touches
The tears of night’s cold gaze.
The moor rolls heaven’s stars
On into the great forest.

Who will ride to the grove
During autumns chilly nights?
None other than the moon worshiper
His cloak loose and divine.

Knots of the Celts painted on his face
His eyes envy green.
To the grove he rides to meet them,
The druids of his own clan.

Their horses hushed at the grove’s edge
A circle formed with rocks.
Each flattened stone with a symbol,
Matching each of the worshiper’s cloaks.

Chanting begins slowly
Their arms raised to the sky.
To the moon they pray for life itself
Pray they never die.

The fire burns brightly
From the moon to the druid’s heart.
His soul one with the forest
With the fire he heals its pain.

The ivy begins to sprout
From the trees of the grove.
From his hand to his fingertips
The moon begins to glow.

The yellow glow swirls round,
The great plants begin to grow.
The runes pulse with ancient light
The elders raw power.

As their eyes burn bright
The trance still strong.
The worshipers chant slows slightly
His eyes still envy green.

The arms all fall.
Their heads swing low.
The runes stop their humming.
It has been done.

To his horse he walks,
On its back he mounts
From the grove he rides on autumns night,
The forest now full of life.

Centries old wood
Weathered, damp, moldy layed to
Rest eons ago.

Life and cigarettes burn to fast.
We waste are time.
So within the moment you bask.

A pretty face has to age.
Every story meets  it's final page.
When life breaks you over its cost.
Then you'll sing a lullaby to the lost.

The lights in the street hide all but the truth my
dear.
You can act.
But you can never mask your  fear.

In dark rooms you sell all but your soul.
A wicked moment a stolen encounter.
All things take there toll.

That sweet face has tuirned hard your so warm
to be cold.
A secret that the bitter have already told.

Can you wash away there stench as from
the past you are tossed.
In dark corners blood stained angles
sing a lullaby  to the lost.

Is this hell or a nightmare  that knows no end.
A cell to most.
To others the only refuge inwhich they
can depend.

she falls to the floor a lost look needle  
in arm.
Most will rememeber a doomed fool.
Others her wreckless charm.

She was  a ******  and a easy lay.
More bones are broken.
Over words others say.

She sold flesh but payed the ultimate
cost.
In a dingy corner of th world.
Were the angles sing a lullaby to the lost.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

screaming
underneath
my breath
bleeding
underneath
my flesh
shell of meat
nothing left