Back to the realm where things are forgotten
and hopes fall apart in a puddle of dirt
all that was ripe, now has gone rotten
and the dearest memories turn into hurt.
I feel I could wait for a chance in this dark
to tear the fabrics of time and space
with the claws of a tiny but ill-tempered lark
just to glimpse once again at your innocent face.
But things are forgotten, you see, and the time
that we spent chasing dreams in uncertain domains
goes to a place where our lives are the crime
and a clueless whisper is all that remains.
And so, I will wander forever this land,
the flame burning low and the wind howling fast,
for a man knows for sure when he takes his stand
that he is to endure or to die if he must.