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The Sacrifice
A tender age
By the High Priest chosen,
As the fairest maiden, from her parents taken,
In the hands of shamen,
For the great initiation.
For many months it never rained;
The fields were dry, the wells were drained.
The barren land would yield no game;
The people looked to lay the blame.
The elders hung theirs heads in shame,
The harvest failed again and again.
Living in her dreams filled with nature's delight,
Dancing in the streams in the dapples sunlight.
The beacons glow across the hill,
To summon folk to watch the ritual.
Her heart begins to pound, she cannot make a sound,
Feet frozen to the ground, with ashen face.
Her purpose now is known, the horror hitting home,
They lead her to the stone, her fate awaits.
The sacrifice; venerate the Master
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The sacrifice; blood awake the Master
The sacrifice...
Cold slab of slate the altar; the blade that must not falter.
The swaying candles dance, the chanting turns to trance,
The ground begins to shake - the sleeping beast awake.
Emerge ye spectral ghosts, take shape ye thunderous hosts,
Oh Lord of death and birth, we invoke from the earth.
She lives on in their dreams, in every ripe seed of grain.
Still dancing in the streams, in every droplet of rain.
Laid out for all to see - no struggle to be free.
Her final memory - there's no escape.
Her garments are torn off, her yielding flesh is soft,
The knife is held aloft to consummate.
The sacrifice; (venerate the Master!)
The sacrifice; (blood awake the Master!)
The sacrifice...
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