I slumber throught my years.
Like the desert moves with the wind.
Frozen and flickering, the lustful year
Has met it's end.
A wanderer I am indeed...
The son of the moon...
And I will carry mountains soon.
A burden I was for those who woke the sun
I threw their masks away, lit my torches,
And burned their eyes...
Forgiven I never was.
But I will carry mountains soon.
A burden, is it not?
Kneeling I chose my faith,
While they lit the sun, and flew naked and blind
Over my desert fields.
