The abyss beacons, pulling, drawing,
on the edge draws apprehension,
below the void, behind, the cross.
Priests instilled, those childhood fears,
the wrath of the god.
No mercy for the weak,
they say let them all be damned.
Then one day she appears,
I have known her before.
A memory long forgotten,
the Lady of the moon,
my sacred mother.
But what of those years?
The false words of the priests.
the fire and brimstone, the fear of his wrath,
the unending guilt of the little white lies.
Our eternal keeper, She guides us in life,
fills us with love and light,
sees to our protection, and heals our pain.
I often sit and wonder:
Just who is the Lord?
What is he to me?
How can he be...
as unmerciful as they preach?
And so the Lady calls,
into the light of the unknown.
Past the hatred and fear, to the land of the gods:
where we honor the old ways.
On the edge of the void,
darkness behind, darkness below.
If I take that step, just where will I go?