Children Of The Harvest

Seems we are to live our final days

Far from the dwellings of men

As flowing tides and shifting sands

Far from the bitter gaze of soul less man

In sorrow we fly from our loved ones

To die in the waters of the wild

My brethren can seek no shelter beneath these wings

Until dead men rise from their graves

How sad it is for me to see

My fathers fallen halls

Here once prideful men clashed as Gods

With veins aflame and hearts of thunder

Yet my fathers are long since dead and gone

And I with heart so heavy

And limbs so weary

It seems our sun is all but dimmed

And we your children have

Wandered for years

And felt the cruel blast of freezing winds

But the harshest blow of all to come...

To return at last to an empty home

"Adapted and altered from the Irish folklore tale

of the Children of Lir, turned to swans and condemned

to roam for 300 years before returning home...to an empty

home. An interesting spine for an allegorical tale. One of

displacement, disenchantment and alienation...from this world

and its ways. Longing for another Age...

another time, another place..."