The Magician Folds Eight

The Magician Folds Eight - Written by Paul Rose He stands between the pillars with the cosmos in his hand Wand held high to heaven, sword planted in the land The cup is full of longing, the coin is cold and bright He speaks the ancient language where the day is born from night He turns the lead of sorrow into rivers made of gold Dissolves the chains that bound him, lets the old self burn and fold From nigredo’s blackest silence to the reddest fire of dawn He commands the unseen currents — what was lost is newly born He moves the stars with intention, bends the river to his will Turns the poison into medicine, makes the broken whole and still He walks the burning circle where the old world meets its fate And the Magician folds eight… No longer just a traveler, no longer just a fool He’s learned the sacred marriage between the fire and the cool Every scar becomes a doorway, every wound becomes a key He speaks his name into existence — “I am what I choose to be” Some say he sold his shadow Some say he stole the flame All I know is when he whispers The whole world learns his name He moves the stars with intention, bends the river to his will Turns the poison into medicine, makes the broken whole and still He walks the burning circle where the old world meets its fate And the Magician folds eight… And the Magician folds eight… The table is empty now… The tools are put away… But somewhere in the silence Beyond both Void and lemniscate The Magician folds eight… The Magician folds eight... #music, #americana, #singersongwriter, #folkrock