BLOOD MOON
A TRILOGY OF SAMHUINN

o’ blood moon, rise on high
that I may ask the old ones nigh

Vocals by Ce'Nedra; Music written, played and recorded by Thunderbird ©2004
(6.4 MB mp3 Download)

I’ve laid the feast, await their cry
rejoice and shout as they drop by
their wisdom I shall never pry

they grab the apples from the bowls
ancestors mine, tell stories old
spirit men pay the fae their tolls
“the sidhe, they leave their summer knolls
to burrow into winter holes”

“crossing earth by light of day
grabbing humans gone astray
so, if from dinner, your love’s away
he’s been taken to the land of fae
and nothing’s left to do but pray”

every year I have begged them here
spirit souls dance around this sphere
holding the ways of old so dear
left the isle, to my home appear
producing a holy atmosphere

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o’ blood moon, above the tree
I raise my outstretched arms to thee
the power of you strengthens me
I am the hag, foretold, you see
from graying hair to gnarled knee

I call the lost who once were found
and buried ‘neath some hallowed ground
I raise the souls to dance around
and flee the jaws of hell’s own hound
for those with merit, cauldron bound

the old ways I trust you all to learn
as the mighty sea waves crash and churn
as the special holy fires burn
for your loved ones grieve and yearn
pray they swim the cauldron and return

for those of you, his’tries savin’
those of the “one god” call me graven
cowards are they, skulking craven
pray on one hand, then seeking haven
I am morrigan, royal raven!

#

o’ blood moon, light the earth
remove from her a nighted dearth
as silly maids contain their mirth
they know she’s cradled in mac lir’s firth
gestating spring, and awaiting birth

the ground will soon pile high with snow
tree branches laden, hanging low
but even the wisest wren will know
that far beneath, wee small things grow
the earth, her blessings will bestowe

but now it’s pumpkins at any price
and a call to barns for all field mice
the harvest cropped, it must suffice
the storerooms filled and counted twice
cinnamon dances with apple spice

but though beauty weaves ‘cross nature’s loom
we must all return now to the womb
but light the fires in every room
for the dead now rise from their tomb
to greet the old crone upon her broom…
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chalcedoni
daughter of the stones