There is a land where nobody sleeps not far off – buried in a morning’s grave the necessity of tenderness laid beneath a body protests on two knees.
He saw a girl that cried too much, her life from the knife of monster earth creatures that wait to keep us quiet the kiss of a prowl to tie each mouth.
Careful! They sniff the living! Who rushes out will fall down broken bones into skeletal corners the brittle-rattle where creatures creep the depth of tombs as flesh once did pain feeds pain and teeth lay thick.
Whosoever is found will be carried on their shoulders stalking the earth looking for others to prey on those who have warm veins.
Take refuge in the eyes of crows! No one is asleep here, bad omens have marks where ribs were torn!
The watchman is watching in silent shoes he peers into things from the corner of his eye snakes with waiting tongues here to feed again a fang comes closer to her nervous ear. . .
“Be careful out there we’re waiting where no one’s sleeping the mummified have shoulders death sits upon them red-eyed saliva with moonlight’s rabid poison in the hunt for skulls groping for flesh to chew on blood.”
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare; Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart. The host is rushing ‘twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away.
The thistledown’s flying, though the winds are all still,
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,
The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot;
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.
The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,
And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed.
Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,
And the rivers we’re eying burn to gold as they run;
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.
AWWWWW YEAH! It’s that time! Powder Pack for Catwa SEPTEMBER Edition reservations are NOW OPEN! You can reserve in-world or on the marketplace between the 18th and the end of the month. Your Pack will automatically be delivered to you immediately on AUGUST 17TH early SLT time. REMEMBER TO ORDER BEFORE THE 17TH TO GET THE POWER PRICE!