White Horse Rising

Lay down your crown of withered leaves

The tarot spins its silent thread

A white horse waits among the trees

To walk the paths where shadows tread

The flag is raised,

the white flower blooms (ooh-ooh)

It is the end that makes the garden grow

Out of the dark,

the purest rivers flow (ahhh)

We fear the blade that cuts the vine

But sweet the grape and sweet the wine

A necessary, holy fall

To build a doorway in the wall

The flag is raised,

the white flower blooms

It is the end that makes the garden grow

Out of the dark,

the purest rivers flow

Pure beginnings... (hummmm)