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On Darkened Wings Who were the wild shaman priests of this land? Do they live on within us today? I reach out with searching, soul connections lost through fear, corruption and tyranny of the male mysteries. At the finger tip edge of my known world something stirs, and song begins to be awoken within me, the Wild Stag Men still sing of the mysteries of the wild hunt, the quest for the power and passion of this sacred land. Not to tame or mane, but to know, to be and drink deeply in sacred union in the mysteries that sing in rock, tree, bird and bone, the mystery that carries us on darkened wings of spirit freedoms flight. Wild Stag Men Are Calling
Wild
Stags we’ re calling Calling
to wild land The
wilderness of souls Greenwoods,
moors, chalk hills Spirit
of stag that sings our song Spirit
of stag that sings our song His
head is held high Antlers
pierce the sky Power,
compassion the quest Seeks
fertile hunting ground Feeds
the wildness of our souls Feeds
the wildness of our souls Mist
descends to the ground The
hunters try to ride Circle
of stone and rain The
drums dance, stags to hide Wild
Stags running free Wild
Stags running free The
kestrel pheasant dance Chase
dream of brotherhood Men
stag whose drum now sings Gathering
of the dark moon streams Wild
Stags of the Grove Wild
Stags of our Grove Wild
Stags we’re calling Calling
to wild land The
wilderness of souls Greenwoods,
moors, chalk hills Spirit
of stag that sings our song Spirit
of stag that sings our song His
head is held high Antlers
pierce the sky Power,
compassion the quest Seeks
fertile hunting ground Feeds
the wildness of our souls We
dance and run with freedom in our veins Feeling
the power and passion of land We
sing of the wildness within our souls As
men we know the mystery of old Lets
find the mystery of our own songs.
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