Druid Runways

Druid runways at the core of cyclone
On these runways a motorized druid
Follows his death alone

And in caves below the road
In orient beds the Hermits sleep
While up above the lonely birch
Blue ravens silently weep

Druid runways at the core of cyclone
These runways were built in panic
Such a long, long time ago

And in lakes along the road
Primal snakes begin to rise
In their kingdom grows a tree
And its fruits are of disguise

And the druid rides on
At the wrenching side of dawn
And his lover’s lying safely
On the dark side of this globe

So the druid rides on
Until he finds a home
A dying bed of sorts
And a friend in days of sore
It could be the heart of his lover
It could also be the road
It could be the blood of his lover
It could be sunrise upon this road