The Red Shaman of Paviland

The Red Shaman of Paviland.


He had slept between the worlds,
Within that dark womb of stone,
For aeons as the world slowly turned,
As icy tundra fell before the waves,
And forests felled by axe and fire,
Our grandfather at his journeys end,
The oldest man in ancient Albion,
The first of our Cro-Magnon Clan.
With trinkets of ivory and seashell,
To decorate him in his sacred death,
His body then gently laid to rest,
As a breathless seed by shaman kin,
Who ruddled with their loving hands,
His blessed bones with ocher stain,
So his questing soul may be born again,
Within a womb of glass and steel,
To teach us who we are, so we may live again.