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A prophecy:

Night descends upon the glade

And moon spreads its unreal dim light

Some ghosts of druids come out of stones

Demoniac kings they leave their thrones

The forest wind talks to the trees

An ancient prophecy is to be

But man should better never to have to know it

Once a storm upset the earth

And Celtic lands were sweeped away

The wind of ruin pass over Lyoness

And consecrated "her" the first kind's end

Look at us, man who from so far came

The druids who dance in night of Beltane

Will give you the doomest omen

Here in Stonehenge....