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.
