Where are they now who raised the Stones
Passed through the veil leaving ashes and bones
A tribe, a nation, once mighty and strong
Their ghosts are now dead, their echoes long gone

What dreams did they dream, what songs did they sing
Of Lovers and Gods, of Heroes and Kings
Did they worship the Mother and honour the Land
In sacred circle, stand hand in hand

What stories were told on star-blazing nights
As they danced round the stones in moon’s sacred light
Who were their priests, to which Gods did they pray
For Sun’s kindly blessings on each Solstice Day

Did they laugh, did they sing as they cut the Bluestones
Released from the Hills by flint axe and bone
Then lifting the stones, each in its place
Silent to stand in earth’s firm embrace

Were the Stones raised in circle and by their priests blest
To receive mighty Kings to earth’s sacred rest
Were they bound to the land, to the Gods, to the Sky
To the cycle of life, to live and to die

Now we stand where they stood, in ritual and prayer
In circle with fire, with rain, earth and air
We gaze, we wonder, the how and the why
In the stillness, the long silence of reply


Where Are They Now who Raised the Stones

This is the first half of the "a Caelestra Christmas" concert 2016.

Long Cold Moon

Tender Are The Gifts

Cloaked In Silence

Lady Of Luck

The land it calls out to me

The land it calls out to me and weeps for what used to be;
And our ancestors mourn, for a land that is torn;
And our children who’ll never be free, in a future we’re too blind to see.

We poison the crops in our fields, in hopes that more money they’ll yield;
While the bees that they need, they are killed by our greed;
And the cost of our greed is revealed as the fate of our children is sealed.

The land it calls out to me and weeps for what used to be;
And our ancestors mourn, for a land that is torn;
And our children who’ll never be free, in a future we’re too blind to see.

We fracture the land ‘neath our feet, in the endless death-race to compete;
Our ground-water brings death, Earth takes her last breath;
And our children fall sick in the heat, and the air they must breathe on the street.

The land it calls out to me and weeps for what used to be;
And our ancestors mourn, for a land that is torn;
And our children who’ll never be free, in a future we’re too blind to see.

We’ve cut down the forests of trees, we’ve poisoned the life giving bees;
We’ve fractured the land with our grasping hands;
Yes the fate of our children is sealed, in a land that now cannot be healed.

The land it calls out to me and weeps for what used to be;
And our ancestors mourn, for a land that is torn;
And our children who’ll never be free, in a future we’re too blind to see.
Oh why did we never quite see, this wasn’t the way it should be?

The Land It Calls Out To Me

Beneath the Moorland Sky

Come with me to moor and mountain; listen to the curlew’s cry;
Hear the skylark rising, singing; here beneath the moorland sky.
Come with me to moor and mountain; listen to the curlew’s cry;
Hear the skylark rising, singing; here beneath the moorland sky.	

Walk with me the hidden pathways; show me where the wild hares lie;
Ancient standing stone and circles; lie beneath the moorland sky.
Come with me to moor and mountain; listen to the curlew’s cry;
Hear the skylark rising, singing; here beneath the moorland sky.

Roam along the wooded valleys; where the wind in branches sighs;
Rise to heather-scented breezes; out beneath the moorland sky.
Come with me to moor and mountain; listen to the curlew’s cry;
Hear the skylark rising, singing; here beneath the moorland sky.

Climb with me to rocky hilltops; see the rushing clouds go by;
Come alive in wind and rainstorm; free beneath the moorland sky.
Come with me to moor and mountain; listen to the curlew’s cry;
Hear the skylark rising, singing; here beneath the moorland sky.

When my days on earth are numbered; and I pass, please let me lie;
On the heather moors forever; peace beneath the moorland sky.
Come with me to moor and mountain; listen to the curlew’s cry;
Hear the skylark rising, singing; here beneath the moorland sky.
Free beneath the moorland sky; peace beneath the moorland sky

Beneath A Moorland Sky

time lkike an ever rolling stream bears all its sons away

Time

Singles

Rhiannon's Ride

Epona Dreams - Little Wren

If anyone is interested, my 2016 CD is now available at Band Camp. 12 tracks digital download. https://lylemusic.bandcamp.com/album/new-day-dawning
Price £3 all proceeds to charity.

Where Are They Now who Raised the Stones

Lyle Music

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