Russian Handkerchief

Black mountain, charcoal sky
Far east where all hope dies
Where the sun can't break dawn
Even at high noon, the circle is drawn

As fire flickers on bare skin
They call out in old tongues
As the dark of the night moves in
They reach out to the old ones
And rejoice with their song

Drinking deep from the cauldron of souls
They dance in the dark
These days are nights by far
Under a short sun you're a god
Hail bone mother, Baba Yaga

It's done, and three have now become one
A blood moon will swallow the Sunday
It's done, the end has now just begun
A blood moon will swallow the sun