There is a ceaseless moaning here
Under these broken stones
Years ferment to mystery
The ghosts and ancient bone
Still there is a purple green
A shadow in the trees
Where there is a moss that knows
Praying beyond the seas
There teases a winding path
Which never will be found
Whispers while we\'re sleeping
A timeless chanting sound
It is an unending quest
To bloody temple stone
To battlefields and sacred plant
To the only way home
History is a haunting hymn
A journey of the soul
Not linear or listed
Nor gated behind toll
Our ancestors still sing to us
Our spine recalls the tail
Thankfully half blind to it
So gods can walk the trail