Pyre Of The Harvest Queen lyrics

A sacral crowd in white gowns is gathered in the grove Contrasting to the sundown, The figures start to move The ghost of earth is breathing in the rows of swaying wheat The gratifying fire of winter needs to eat Wattled heath and ivy to honor the unseen Wickers in the image of the never-been The beat of drums is pacing the chant of ancient names The foe the crowd is facing has risen from the flames The skeleton of autumn, inimical and mean Heaps up above the Pyre of the Harvest Queen With eyes fixed at the steeple embellished as a crow The group of naked people is swaying to and fro Their voices make a choir to the distant somber beat The gratifying fire of winter needs to eat