This is a song about spring, when all the snows are melting
And the east wind falls gently on your skin.
Snakes slither from their earthy womb, from the season when the soul’s entombed
And lowering clouds have set the mood, now’s the time to seek the good.
And time, time stretches out like an ocean into the rising sun
And your mind can’t hold the notion of the depth of time to come.
This is a song about fire, the birthing of the heart’s desire
Rising like a boiling flood in the belly and the blood.
See to the lambs, get the plough, prepare for sweat upon the brow
Light a candle, whet the blade, the crone is dead, rise for the maid.
And time, time stretches out like and ocean into the rising sun
And your mind can’t hold the notion of the depth of time to come.
This is a song about blood flowing in the season of love
Deeper down, cold dark and chill the crocus rises on the hill.
And blood, blood sings like angels; only a story the living can tell.
Light a candle, whet the blade, time to grasp all that you crave.
blackmarksonawhitepage 