Kamaskera Green Man Rising

Beneath the church, beneath the road,
Beneath the weight of every load,
Something pushes, something grows,
The Green Man wakes and no one knows.

Through the flagstone, through the wall,
Through the crypt and through the hall,
Vine and tendril, root and stem,
He was here before all men.

We are Keepers of the gate,
But the green does not ask, does not wait,
It splits the lock, it cracks the hinge,
And every threshold starts to cringe.

Who tends the tender? Who guards the guard?
The oldest root beneath the yard
Was never planted, never sown —
It grew itself from blood and bone.

Green Man rising, Green Man here,
Crack the stone and split the year,
Every wall a future vine,
Every Keeper, every line.