Blood Soaked Flautist

Thunders are like voices of gods in wrath
Lightning mould the silhouette of wet flautist
The flute confuses the sad melody of rain.
The muddy way guides the step thru the forest
Rays mould the dark silhouette near mountain
Wind and cutting rain can't blow the flame of candle
Procession of singer old women singin`unknown verses
Frogs speak in their amphibious idiom salutin`all the pilgrims.
On the muddy way only pass those that speak strange languages
Everybody waves interfered for their own spirits
To the guardian spectrus; the messenger from unknown space
Lands where none have stepped before are waiting for you