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about

One of the skin turners in Slavic mythology.

lyrics

Long ago in the day's of Merlin and Arthur there lived a witch named Kerridwen.
Now she had a son, ugly as sin, sadly lacking in wisdom and wit Afagddu was his name and she wished to change, that darkness that couldn't be lit.

So she consulted her spells and old incantations,
till from some lost shadow of time,
she came upon the works of one, virgil the gaul.
She laughed in delight whilst planning for his transformation,
then turned on her heels and merrily skipped down the hall.

She set to gathering,
incense, honey, aloes, red berries and myrrh.
Wild cress and vervain from the hillsides they came.
Culled in the rising of the dog star.
Flux wort and silver,
foam of the ocean, ruddy gem and white mistletoe.
To cure his blues with her magical muse,
boiled for a year and a day.

She set her little servant boy,
whose name was gwion bach,
to mind over that cauldron,
and he did so faithful, carefully,
both night and day.
Whilst it simmered and spat like a catty concoction,
he labored and toiled as it bubbled and boiled away.
As the years end drew nigh,
a fat moon it rose high,
three drops they splashed onto his thumb.
Which he popped in his mouth to ease that scalded skin.

Now as fate would have it,
all of the inspiration that was brewed for Morfran,
the ugly one was distilled homeopathicly into those three drops.
Instantly he saw the future

Instantly,
he saw the future,
he saw the past.
He knew all there was to know,
and in that moment in a blinding flash,
he knew that he had to go.

Because that liquid of learning,
no longer contained inspiration,
but seethed and oozed black as the blood of a yew.
And that potion they had brewed,
alas it had turned to poison,
and the cauldron of brass suddenly cracked and blew.

Oh little Gwion,
you will spin on the medicine wheel,
Oh little Gwion you have made a magical deal.
You spin on the medicine wheel.

Well little Gwion he ran,
he thought to himself,
she will kill me if she catches me if she can.
And sure she followed with a shreek.
Her fury and rage across time and space,
playing shapeshifting hide and see.
He turned into a hare,
she into a hound.
Then he into a stickleback fish.
And to his despair she followed him there,
turned into and otter bitch.

So he flew as a dove and she as a hawk,
so speedy.
All the closer, the closer she came,
as she followed him there.
Till exhausted he was and
feeling exceedingly seedy,
he turned into a groat of wheat,
and fell out of the air.

Oh i thought i got away that time!,
she was waiting a black speckled hen.
Oh she pecked him up there and then.
So he lay in the belly,
he lay in the crop,
or in the dark womb of Kerridwen.

credits

from Nectan's Glen, released February 8, 2015
Ruz:- Guitar, Vocal
Daevid Allen: Gliss & Guitar electrique
Mark Robson: Keys

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Shivakti Byron Bay, Australia

A sonic salad of homegrown songs, toe tapping tunes, evocative verse, melodic grooves, healing drones, harmonic overtones, fun, laughter, wild nature and tales of the ancient future -NOW. Shivakti are Russell, Mayinda & friends. ... more

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