Great Birnam Wood has come to High Dunsinane Hill.
This thing that cannot be, by God's or demons will,
has come to pa**. Now see men march behind the ghosts of trees
And red-handed someone sits: sleeping, tired, and alone
Comsumed by fear of her own make. Heart of stone now turned to bone;
read hands now only shake; for beneath the trees, the earth doth quake!
Though nameless here, she knows her name; and shivers now bereft of grace;
and cannot from her mirror turn, for the red has spread from hands to face!
And bitter words shall every forked tongue burn, with fires fueled by hate and scorn...
Let the trees march ever onward, for in my heart I hold them
And I would follow on through endless days and shed my blood to mark the way
It was in my childhood, in the hollow: where darkness ruled even day;
where quiet solace was under leaves; my heart was hidden amidst the trees
The will-o-wisps where dancing there; the willow whispers chanting low;
and this is what I heard them sing: Every fallen leaf - an angel's wing
Let the cities keep what cities breed, for field and forest, they are holy
Let the city embrace the city's brood
My heart is hidden amidst the wood