New age folklore tells us
We will find pollution pixies
in the scraped bare remnants
Of houses that were gutted
By an overflowing sea
Their blue skin flecked with mud, and eyes
Red and burning from the chemical stench
Black dogs are just white dogs
Doused in oil and waiting for a flame to catch
They sit outside of graveyards and watch
Not for what has come but what will be
Ten thousand fae women, weeping
As radiation has stolen their fertility
And hunger ravaged their children
Ten thousand changelings with bloated stomachs
And empty eyes
We will tell campfire stories of mannan maclir
And how his whole ocean
Boiled and frothed, the palms of his god-hands
Still too small to contain the damage
His collosal eyes weeping tears that drowned a village
When he saw trawler nets of whales he once taught to speak
Present magic is an ugly thing, tar black and tasting of war
Red caps, with their bleeding heads and wide grins
Are the only true victors in this slaughter
But even they mourn their unseelie cousins
The wild hunt chases oath breakers in their white houses
Those sitting on thrones of corpses
Still shovelling money into stuffed pockets
The dogs are baying and savage, nightmares every one
And no match for every iron bullet that they face
None come back alive
Their pelts are traded with ivory, prices stacked
The heads of dreams now wall decor in overlarge houses
New age folklore is the silent death of every myth and legend
That lended hope under smoggy skies
Magic dies in a blanket of ash
Choking on the dust of indifference