Shrine of The Crows - Before The Cross Came South

Long before the cross came south, Before the hymn found the preacher’s mouth, They prayed to wind, bone, and flame, To the river’s voice, where the spirits came. The bayou breathed and the water spoke, Through willow skin and cypress smoke. They left their gifts where the herons tread, And the swamp replied in tongues long dead. Before the cross came south, the bayou sang, The river was god, the wind was hymn, the night was psalm. The old gods slept beneath the reeds, Now they stir in the black lagoon, Still hummin’ low their funeral tune. The Houma drums would mark the tide, The Yoruba chants were creolized. Loa and L’esprit, side by side, In the bayou dark, they never lied. They tied their prayers with twine and bone, Lit the fire till the swamp was home. The serpent curled, the crows would cry, The storm rolled in, and the sky replied. Before the cross came south, the bayou sang, The river was god, the wind was hymn, the night was psalm. The old gods slept beneath the reeds, Now they stir in the black lagoon, Still hummin’ low their funeral tune. They painted saints to hide the face, Of spirits older than this place. Mary wore Yemayá’s crown, And Legba watched when the sun went down. The swamp remembers every word, Every psalm the priest misheard. ‘Cause faith don’t die, it just takes root, In the dark where the water bears its fruit. Before the cross came south, the bayou sang, The river was god, the wind was hymn, the night was psalm. The old gods slept beneath the reeds, Now they stir in the black lagoon… Before the cross came south, the bayou sang, The river was god, the wind was hymn, the night was psalm. The old gods slept beneath the reeds, Now they awaken in the black lagoon, Still hummin’ low their funeral tune.