The might of man is rubble, tattered land
the true victor—
emerald not iron.
Follow the owl, hide from machine
mechanical scouts, with broken wings
even victorious you will be empty
the last of hope in the owl's eyes.
Owl at dawn, talons gripping
spirits lifting beyond blood and pain.
Follow the owl, hide from machine
mechanical scouts, with broken wings
even victorious you will be empty
the last of hope in the owl's eyes.
Endless should these forest be, uncarved and unscathed
haze-less skies, only moon, star, cloud in the night.
Bronze talons woven in our hair
we smell of wood smoke and rain
follow the owl, gather the horde
follow the owl.
Endless should these forest be, uncarved and unscathed
haze-less skies, only moon, star, cloud in the night.
Faces painted with blood, human ash
but talons strung in our hair
we rise with the owl
warriors fall, stories rise.