When we walk through speckled landscapes where the shape-shifters dance,
we are walking in the footsteps of the ones who came before.
There are signposts they have left us all across the forest floor.
A thousand years of living - we dont set our sail by chance.
We are walking in the footsteps of the ones who came before.
The Old Ones' songs I hear upon the breeze.
A thousand years of living - we dont set our sail by chance.
I sing wolfsong to the mountains and knock on midnight's door.
The Old Ones' songs I hear upon the breeze,
under my feet the brittle leaves of summer past.
I sing wolfsong to the mountains and knock on midnight's door.
The night air whispers: here you are, at last!
Under my feet the brittle leaves of summer past.
There are signposts they have left us all across the forest floor.
The night air whispers: here you are, here you are at last!
Walking through a speckled landscape where the shape-shifters dance.
A pantoum, but the lines are too long for the margins, so they dont fall the way they should.
