In the direction that the wind travels
The old funeral trees dance
Oracle of all power
She of the golden bosom that never forgets
Bestowing fire on the ritual herbs
Burning seed of visionary wisdom
Make of the tomb of the forest a secret

And we will be tributaries with our hymn
And we will be tributaries with the bread of the dead
With our silent mourning
With the nectar of sacrifice

Oracle of all power
Lead us without pain to the grey gathering
Guide our steps to the cold inner temple
Make us trees that seek out the sun..