The earth shook herself awake, fire and stone
Bit her chains of fetid reason
Like a sapling from decay, she will feed on your fall.
Her freedom, you named it green treason
You bastards with your bruised flag
I'd like to cut out your tongues
Spangle fifty barbs across your face.
I am estranged, far from the ocean
Stunted ribcage trees, thorned husks like death
No corpse-reek, it smells of bone
A wraithlike land, crumbling tomb.
I thirst for the rain, dew on needles and leaf
Lady Bogachiel, oh maiden of mist
But dust fills my eyes, spines in my mouth
To speak of home, that is green treason.
I hid the ink on my skin, a glacier lily upon each palm
Twin Sisters tattooed down my spine, Rainier's peaks upon my arm
But when I spoke of green treason you bound me with scorching desert rope
Forced iron down my throat
Now I dream of the moss-stains beneath my feet.
You can never keep me from my home
Lady Bogachiel sings of your doom
The rain has always brought the end of ruin
Heed, my lady calls me with her fog-song, I must return.
Deep in the vale stirs my lady's primal fire
Green crescent moons beneath the black star-shine
Ebon as the Morrígu's gaze
I stare into my lady's sunless face
The trail beyond the dying sun.
My mother, the light shed from a raven's wing
Father, the vapor of its eyes
From my stepping feet, rising mist and fallen rain
My bird skulls, burning incense, exhale cloud
The sun through wet veils, my hazel-horned lover
He runs deep in my moss and loam, my sunken river
Molten starlight in the ground, pale beards drape from trees
Traps of spider web and wind-woven moss ensnare me.
Deep in the vale stirs my lady's primal fire
Green crescent moons beneath the black star-shine
Ebon as the Morrígu's gaze.
I am your vale, breast dark as the black of crow-eyes
I am your vale, fog cold upon your brow
Frozen ferns and night fog are my winter incense
Drink it deep, drink it deep, in cold arms you sleep
I drape you in moss-woven blankets to keep you warm
Molten starlight thaws the ground, we are home.
Deep in the vale stirs my lady's primal fire
Green crescent moons beneath the black star-shine
Ebon as the Morrígu's gaze
I stare into my lady's face
We walk the path of blades, the trail beyond the dying sun.
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