In the cradle of whispers where ancient spirits dwell,
A voice resonates from nature's deep and sacred well.
The god of the wild, in his voice, a powerful spell,
Decrees his return, in every tree and every dell.
"Awaken, ye slumbering lands, stir from your dreamful rest,
The time has come to recall my rule, by primal rites, it's blessed.
I've heard the secret lullabies of the wind from the west,
I reclaim my throne, by the sun and moon, be it professed.
He, who wears the mantle of moss, and the crown of hawthorn leaves,
Under whose reign, the wolf howls, and the wise raven believes,
Returns now to his rightful throne, as the universe itself perceives,
In the wild heart of the world, a tapestry of life he weaves.
The rivers shall dance once again to my ancient, drumming beat,
The mountains shall bow to my power, in my presence, discreet,
The forest shall whisper my lore, each tale they shall repeat,
For I am the wild's true king, its symphony I complete.
Mankind, heed this prophecy, inscribed in the stones and the streams,
In the flight of the falcon, in the stag's powerful gleams,
I reclaim my throne, let it echo in your dreams,
For I am the god of the wild, and I am not as distant as it seems