Three Visitors to the Tree of Souls

Eastbound the dying breeze,
Through the swaying grass.

Come a girl off her knees,
To the moonlight ever last.

To take steps to a weeping willow,
Wailing in the wind.

Watching watery whispers,
Take care, when she’ll begin.

She kisses the Tree of Souls,
Listens to the stories they tell,
Touches the hand of devils,
And casts us down to Hell.

Earthbound the dying angel,
Fallen from grace.

Towards the fields of Noel,
And wipe tears from his face.

When Jordon is bathed in blood,
And history takes its place.

This sorrowful seraph smiles,
And ascends his race.

He pushes the Tree of Souls,
Listens to the curses they yell,
Touches the head of devils,
And laughs on his way to Hell.

Eden bound the red one,
Who plays melodies on his pipe.

With goat legs for him to run,
He offers fruit forbidden and ripe.

One taste is all it takes,
For innocents to fall spellbound.

Piping perfectly precious songs,
To dance us below the ground.

He strokes the Tree of Souls,
Listens of magic and spell,
Touches the heart of devils,
And pipes us to dance into Hell.