Rustling into the fire of wood warm limbs lay weak on ground Lighting up the night upon sepulchres will’-o -the –wisp
Towards the end a phantasmagoria Of loosing thoughts as a fevered child
Roaming through blind emotions Everyone waits his turn While time falls from the green tree of life, We are flaking as snow in the sun
Something blazes in the dry lands Something takes away the cover of emptiness Something survives the fear of dying Gaia lays aside the dim light of her mantle Weaving in the crossplay her archaic heavens Embracing the souls of heroes Gaia lays aside the dim light while we’re returning Reborning from ashes in her green and flowered mantle
Stolen to the death the deeds of heroes brightly survive