Sanctuary of the Moors by Arendia Lyrics
Oh we walk on the ground where our elders did roam
They’ll never take from us the place we call home
In memory of Turner and Alance we stand
For this was their life; now this is our land
The stones once round people now capture the rain
And the mosses they rise where they harvested grain
But they’ll never take from us the right to roam free
And we’ll drink to our forefathers by the Yew Tree
Take, oh take me
To the Sanctuary Of The Moors
Come with me
To the Sanctuary Of The Moors
Silently watching the gloam after Eventide
A solitary form walks apace
Following the path from the old Black’a’Moors
Into the cold night’s embrace
As the wind cuts through the iced winter’s air
At a fork in the path, left is took
Ripples form over the pools on the ground
And the moonlight glistens on the brook
Shippon by the farm, a boundary still here
Spirit at the well of James Yates
A sigil at Pikestones, the must of heathen fire
Flickering as the smoke abates
Cottongrass dancing amongst the Vanellus
An old wooden form lies beneath
A land forged by ancients who came before
And the figure sits down in the heath
The watch of the wanderer facing the east
Away from the township’s distrust
Ever at one with the call of the vale creatures
Summoned here by wanderlust
Take, oh take me
To the Sanctuary of the Moors
Come with me
To the Sanctuary of the Moors
They’ll never take from us the place we call home
In memory of Turner and Alance we stand
For this was their life; now this is our land
The stones once round people now capture the rain
And the mosses they rise where they harvested grain
But they’ll never take from us the right to roam free
And we’ll drink to our forefathers by the Yew Tree
Take, oh take me
To the Sanctuary Of The Moors
Come with me
To the Sanctuary Of The Moors
Silently watching the gloam after Eventide
A solitary form walks apace
Following the path from the old Black’a’Moors
Into the cold night’s embrace
As the wind cuts through the iced winter’s air
At a fork in the path, left is took
Ripples form over the pools on the ground
And the moonlight glistens on the brook
Shippon by the farm, a boundary still here
Spirit at the well of James Yates
A sigil at Pikestones, the must of heathen fire
Flickering as the smoke abates
Cottongrass dancing amongst the Vanellus
An old wooden form lies beneath
A land forged by ancients who came before
And the figure sits down in the heath
The watch of the wanderer facing the east
Away from the township’s distrust
Ever at one with the call of the vale creatures
Summoned here by wanderlust
Take, oh take me
To the Sanctuary of the Moors
Come with me
To the Sanctuary of the Moors