It's the blood of the ancients
That flows though our veins
And the forms pass
But the circle of life remains
Crone and Sage
Crone and Sage
Wisdom is the gift of age
Sage and Crone
Sage and Crone
Wisdom's gift shall be our own.
We are the flow, we are the ebb
We are the weavers, we are the web.
We are the spiders, we are the thread
We are the witches, back from the dead.
Hoof and Horn, hoof and horn
All that dies shall be reborn
Corn and Grain, corn and grain
All that falls shall rise again.