Impression of the cloven hoof,

Forest sheds its rotting roof:

Leaves scattered, brown and gold,

A used carpet; wrinkled, old.


Rising slowly from the ground

Shadows approach and surround

Leaving all their earthly jails

Down where the banshee wails.


Don’t they know they’re too late

Clamouring before the gate

All fearing for their fates

Down where the kelpie waits?


Gone is hope, gone is youth;

No hiding from the truth.

Sunset lights this creaking ship,

Boudicca braced for the whip.


Now Cernunnos cuts the chord,

Arthur hands in his sword,

Merlin casts his last spell

Down by the Druids’ Well.


Who did right, who did wrong?

Sirens sing their last song

Waiting for the howling gales

Down where the banshee wails.