A lusty, tribal tune about the Celtic god of the forest and fertility: Herne (aka The Horned One)
You can say your prayers, work your rites
burn your little candles day and night
you can shimmy 'til dawn to the pounding drums
but you best be ready when the Horned One comes, yeah
If you wake to the sound of a hunting horn,
dance a ring in the gathering storm.
If the Solstice time gets your panties in a wad,
it's just the coming of the Horned God
He will call you out, make you sweat,
give you a blessing that you'll never forget.
So revel in the chase and let your heartbeat run:
Blessed are the children of the Horned One!
Hunter who tracks outside of time,
guardian lord of ancient rhyme,
brother stag in the musky glen
and consort of the Goddess in her woodland den,
we call you forth as we make our way,
walking in your power every day.
Guide us true in our hunt this night
and maybe even later in the Great Rite!
He will call you out...
If you wake to the sound of a hunting horn
dance a ring in
the gathering storm
revel in the chase and let your heartbeat run
but you'd best be ready, little one!
You'd best be ready when the Horned One comes!