Through the mists of forests & ancient time,
Resonating in corridors of my long lost mind,
I hear the haunting tones of warm liquid gold,
Echoing notes of ancient tales sung & so told.
Angelic old voices, caressing as silken soft moths,
Haunting in graves of Bards & cloisters of Goths,
From the habits of monks & Druid´s hood echoes,
Resound in heaven & beneath stones of old geckoes.
Incantations of ravens & bats add their own choirs,
Where Shamans & tribes dance rings around fires,
Those musical whispers from times ancient & old,
Banishing from souls, the lonely & uninvited dark cold.