The Wanderer’s Oath

(Verse 1)
At the edge of the known world I planted my staff,
Where the mist swallows morning and the ravens laugh,
No silver, no kin-blade, no hearth-fire behind,
Just the marrow of courage and the hunger of mind.
(Chorus)
By Lugh of the Long Hand and the turning of stone,
By the bones of the mountain, I walk this alone,
Through the shadow-draped hollows where the old spirits dwell,
I will find what was taken, or follow it to hell.
(Verse 2)
The forest grew darker past the three-cornered oak,
Where the Fomorians whisper and the black water spoke,
No road but the ridgeline, no map but the stars,
No friend but my fury and the god-given scars.
(Chorus)
By Lugh of the Long Hand and the turning of stone,
By the bones of the mountain, I walk this alone,
Through the shadow-draped hollows where the old spirits dwell,
I will find what was taken, or follow it to hell.
(Bridge)
And the Morrigan watches from her oak-twisted throne,
She counts all the cowards who turned back for home,
But my eyes are on fire and my teeth are set hard,
And the fate-thread is mine now, not the doom of the bard.
(Verse 3)
Past the lake where the dead kings still reach for the light,
Past the standing stones ringing with echoes of rite,
I asked of no oracle, I bent to no fear,
Only sweat, only silence, only the way forward, clear.
(Chorus)
By Lugh of the Long Hand and the turning of stone,
By the bones of the mountain, I walk this alone,
Through the shadow-draped hollows where the old spirits dwell,
I will find what was taken, or follow it to hell.
(Outro)
And when I come back — if the gods say I shall —
I’ll carry no trophy, I’ll hang up no hall,
I’ll know what I’m made of, down deep in the grain,
And no wilderness living can unmake me again.

Celtic folk driven by bodhrán and low whistle. Hypnotic fame and hand crafted drums, chanting, lyre, nyckelharpa.