From The Mist

The moon shines high from the top of the hill

A white curtain rises

Spirits are calling as the old man stands still

Waiting for the crimson light

Feeling the presence of a power supreme

Becoming aware of the secrets

Lying away from the human sight

The night, the forest

The last caress for

The old man waiting for the mist

Ancients calling, tribes united

Annwn is the otherworld

Fingers like iced branches

Clenching the sword

The last battle is lost

A look to the village

A prayer for the sons

Dana's calling your name