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Type O Negative October Rust Green Man Spring won't come, the need of strife To struggle to be freed from hard ground The evening mists that creep and crawl Will drench in the dew and so drown I'm the green man The green man Sol in prime sweet summertime Cast shadows of doubt on my face A midday sun, its caustic hues Refracting within the still lake Autumn in her flaming dress Of orange, brown, gold fallen leaves My mistress of the frigid night I worship pray to on my knees Winter's breath of filthy snow Befrosted paths to the unknown Have my lips turned true purple Life is coming to an end So says me, me wiccan friend Nature coming full circle I'm the green man The green man |
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