To him oh shame, they're children, piteous babes

They slay their blood, they poured out in his name

With wailing cries and tears and rue

Called sadness need as pain they knew



The land of old centuries past has a story to be told

From a time known as the iron age to the present secrets they do hold

Scotland, Denmark, Ireland and the British isle shores

Home the history of Druid worship and the Celtic tales unfold



Darkening themselves with grim understandings of mystic Celtic gods

Blood thirsty for their ritualistic slaughter they commit human life

To death they fall in wasted form to appease the earth and gods

Burned and slashed and drained of blood they're given in vain with ease



With grim grappling they reared this wind worm

Rain racked ring of late

Someone digging found a drift of white pebbles

A bronze knife and children's fire charred bones



Circular stones erected as a place of sacredness

Arranged for their temple of dedicatory offerings

Monumentarily built thousands of years before the Lord's birth

These stones cradled little children to their incinerated death



Beltain fires burned a blaze atop the hills

Waiting for offerings they kill for the sake of the living

The fear of sickness and famine compel to dance this ceremony

The sun and the moon is for them death and life as they pass

Their fateful tears through this wicked age



Intervening the church witness the need for reform on their Godless pagan day

Yeilding to these calendar high points but people yearn for these festive times

They change the name of their holiday to assume Christian status

Will they forsake ceremonies of old, do the religions of the seasons fade away?



Now a day given much feeding as children dress