The power of mystery and magic remain. Swirls of She are everywhere, carved in rock, pushed upright to circles of stone. Now, She stands in grottos, or by holy wells, dressed in blue. She cradles the babe whom many insisted she sacrifice her divinity to. Bombs burst in Londontown, flashing Your face with fury and pain.
Crosses bear witness to the silencing by the sword.
The symbol of death overpowers those of life. Men who suckled at your breasts grow lost. They grope with a yearning in their hearts for the elusive peace that once was theirs in the sweetness of mothers' milk. They hunger for their souls, so starved, they kill, to feed the emptiness. All Rights Reserved.