Fires of Lughnasadh*

In the circle I lit the fires of Lughnasadh
I’ve no harvest in my hands and I’m the father
Of the change and of the fear
Of the flames and the tears
My sons

In the circle I lit the fires of Lughnasadh
There is nothing but I know there is another
Life to live without a plan
Place to see without a land
To walk on

My harvest for today
Is to admit the change
It hasn’t yet killed me
And I’m still standing on my feet

And I am still alive
Or may be I’m obliged
To breath again the air from
The sky composed by clouds and thoughts

In the circle I lit the fires of Lughnasadh
It seems to me that I’m a sort of younger brother
That wants to know ‘bout everything
But doesn’t know still how to live
To grow

In the circle I lit the fires of Lughnasadh
While I’m thinking of connections with Kabala
Tree of Life it is for me
A new lesson full of gifts
Of gold

My harvest for today
Is to admit the change
It hasn’t yet killed me
And I’m still standing on my feet

And I am still alive
Or may be I’m obliged
To breath again the air from
The sky composed by clouds and thoughts

*Nel calendario esoterico celtico la notte fra la fine di luglio e l’inizio di agosto corrisponde alla festa di Lughnasadh, la festa del raccolto.