I see wings with golden flecks
that embrace the moon;
a faith we need to reign in,
the horses of light and dark pull them.
I run with the wolves,
my hair streaming behind me,
as the wheel of fortune flings me out.
I see two magpies when I'm joyful,
but only one when I need two the most.
I can harness hell in times of apocalypse
and channel Gaia on Elysium field days.
The Chariot is ours to drive,
through the clouds we think are real.