Beneath a sky of dull stars
the villages of the plain
are deserted now
and fallen to a ruin
There in a dew silvered dawn
dark figures sadly shuffled
in deathlike silence
toward a cold rising sun
As days succeeded each other
down the last days
And beyond village walls
tired workers crumbling by
on the high roads home
and the herders
wheel old milk carts
as sad years glide by
The vigerous years now gone
with minds constantly harassed
by travails of life
and the perilous rewards
of cold stone soil
Where the old ones said
enough of this foolishness
Do not let your hearts turn
toward the dark Priestess
and cleave to temptation's whim
in a temple's gloom
There to imbide libations
and aromatic enticing infusions
of Aspodel flowers
drawn from dark gates
beyond the world
Beyond a darkened door
a fugure huddles
before a scrying dish
She devotes herself
to dreams of future times
Thoughts frozen and burnt
through windows to the soul
Where reality and dream collide
with a thin pretence to truth
Hidden in the dews of Nepenthe
and the magics of the mind
her spirit writhes forlorn
In a cold rank place
where odours are deadly
and the fires of life
burn slowly down
She breathes the fumes of magic
eyes turned to other worlds
she cries truths for believers
And will this caste guide us
or stain and beguile us
with their cold fears and logics
Will they lead us astray
with their dark eyes
gleaming with mischief
and the glow of power
And from the sand
Temples rise
mirrors for the Lion's sky
imprecations to a risen God
And the Priestess serves
seeking a cold love
from a forsaken God
