This sacred tree will grow through you
the shape of your branches will start to show
When the dawn of man fades
all flesh will turn to hay
won't you lay the earth over us?
Your soul is anchored at the roots
as bursts of pagan colours bloom
When the dawn of man fades
all flesh will turn to hay
won't you lay the earth over us?
Open up the larch wood, spruce wood door
and let the stars spill on the forest floor
When the dawn of man fades
all flesh will turn to hay
won't you lay the earth over us?
Sun grazing comets on galactic black bones
pleated with riddles of old dying stars
Impacted planets on the heavens breath
a glint in their eye of our birth and our death
