Transit Poetry Solstice
The skies speak in a blood red tongue
In the brightest gleaming night of the year
For ages ancient songs we've sung
And asked pagan gods to return here
Solstice come, illuminate
the night, free us from winter's doom
Don't let your fires hesitate
to send their light into all rooms
The skies speak in a blood red tongue
In the shortest night that tells of joy
These songs we sing with hoarse rough lungs
For the delight of every girl and boy
The shining flame, the burning torch
Slowly it goes from hand to hand
Passed on for all the dreams we forge
It carries faith throughout the land
In a suicide mood drowned in their source
The moths that dance around the flames
Pridefully following the sun's turned course
Like we set out for new forged aims
