In the shadow of serpent’s wings,
A head is held beneath the stream.
All the children of the forest,
Crawl beneath his flesh.
Take him home, where the lamplight is dim,
There, off nature’s breast, he’s weaned.

Now see him twisting as he grows,
Child of the mountains and the sea.
Raised in the valley, where only
Blackened flowers bloom.
Deep in the forest, in sunlit glades,
Hear the howling wolves at play.

Ominous descending shadow
Engulfs the pallid umbrall dell,
Where trees are twisting as they grow,
Ever twisting growth.
The groves are waiting to kill her boy,
Unadorned there in the snow.

Upon the mountain of serpents wings,
The dells, they sing in gore want coos
Horns of wine will flow.
She wished for death in the dim lamplight.
Forest of death claims him as its own,
See them twisting as they grow,
Ever twisting growth…

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