letra de oakenheart - old growth
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my journey ends
this is the settling of the wanderer
i lay down my weary limbs on a wet bed of moss
i taste the dew, drink some resin, climb the clouds and collect some stars
i cloak my body in leaves of fern and make my mouth the nest of the night snake
i replace my lonesome heart with acorns
the seedling will sprout within my chest
i place two cones of pitch pines in my orbits
i will envisage a new world
i witness my last breath vanish into the cold air of thе first autumn night
a flock of birds ascends into the clouded firmamеnt
a white stag heads for the forgotten glade
the black wolves prepare for the sacred hunt
a druid is born: mossweaver
oakenheart
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