Crux Of The Message - Skyclad

It starts as a faint purr, rippling, beckoning

Stealing the evening’s baking heat

It steps to the side, foot tapping, hop skipping

Without formation, no sense of the beat

And then comes the mean, heartrending echo

Low and beguiling, starting the show

The murmur resounding, a tightening of air

As colours emerge, the wind starts to blow

He’s coming, he’s coming

The crux of the message

A silvery swordsman

No mercy to spare

He’ll slice and he’ll sever

With sparkling precision

The weapon his fortune

The dragon, this air

And most run for cover, they know of his venom

The fury with which he will mount his attack

But those with a nerve and bubbling curiosity

Won’t be so hasty to hide or turn back

With a crack of his whip the tears start cascading

Great rivers of truth washing over the land

In praise or in pity, in fear or forgiveness

The thunder is slain, the demon at hand

He’s coming, he’s coming

The crux of the message

A silvery swordsman

No mercy to spare

He’ll slice and he’ll sever

With sparkling precision

The weapon his fortune

The dragon, this air

And the threatening rumble of music soon faded

A great composition now rendered complete

The mottle blue heavens now gather in whispers

To wait for the encore

A black cloudless sheet