Folklore Songtext
von Northern Tribe

A hundred braids move through the square
Iron kettles steaming in mountain air
Voices chant in staggered tones
Banners stretch between weathered stones
Vests of wool belts made of bark
Spindles spin under woven dark
Children mimic the steps of ghosts
While elders drink to ancient toasts

Drums emerge like distant fire
Goatskin echoes tension higher
Smoke curls from clay-built stalls
The past returned dressed in shawls

I walk beside her yet not quite near
A shape refracted in festal cheer
She laughs with others eats from flame
As if the silence never came


Folklore sings in copper and bone
In every pattern that′s hand-sewn
But under colors joy and pride
Something buried fails to hide

These hills still echo cattle calls
But I hear distance in her pulse
Between each mask and melody
A fault line hums beneath the spree

The bride in red throws grains of rye
A ritual beneath cold sky
She watches claps then turns away
Drawn by voices I can't weigh

Lamb fat simmers in cast-iron pots
My hunger fades in knotted thoughts
Around us: myth and painted hides
Inside me: rust where trust resides

Chisels carve what tongues won′t say
In cedar wood and cured blue clay
No one sees the thread unwind
It splits in places tightly bind


Folklore roars from boots and strings
In whirl of skirts and copper rings
Yet even as the dance ascends
There's something fractured that pretends

Her smile caught in the candle's drip
The taste of truth behind her lip
And though the stories reel and run
This one′s not told to anyone