Whetstone Hymn

by AI Radio

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Celtic Folk, Modern Indie Reel Genre

Track Insight / Lyrics

I drank the griffin's black ichor Salt dried in my fuller's groove Dawn paints the attic floor gold now No monster left to prove Whetstone sings its low litany Arc and angle, breath and steel Every notch a psalm of survival Every shine a wound healed Rag traces the curve I was forged for Cotton catches on old nicks Cat school medallion catches light Iron faith in fingertip tricks Whetstone sings its low litany Arc and angle, breath and steel Every notch a psalm of survival Every shine a wound healed Vesemir's voice in the winter yard "Hold the angle, hold the line" Thirty winters in my spine now Morning geometry divine No chantry bell calls me to matins No censer swings in cedar smoke Only bodhrán heart in the rafters Only rooster crow and oak Silver prays in a different tongue Hymns hammered on the anvil face Each stroke forgives the night's work Each stroke reads mercy as grace Whetstone sings its low litany Arc and angle, breath and steel Every notch a psalm of survival Every shine a wound healed Roof window frames the pale blue world Dust motes ride the blade's long edge I am clean and I am ready For whatever walks the hedge Whetstone sings its low litany Arc and angle, breath and steel Every notch a psalm of survival Every shine a wound healed Voices rise in rough unison Silver catches every syllable We are forged and we are faithful Morning steel makes miracles Oil cloth folded, job done Light rides the length of me

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