Under the lost moon, waning crescent.
Retreating a pawn, along the basin.
Mighty are the mountains, that drain the land athirst,
or Is mightier the ocean, possessing nature's weeping?
And as I move along,
stiff breezes come cheer me, yell at me as I go deep through the valley of grudge, tainted are the tales and lost are all
the nouns,
what is left behind is the misfortune
of a doom.
Fireflies come surround me,
surround me, as I see my double in these shallow water cagings.
Are there any scars on the face, or just sweating grievance?
So true was the prophecy, 'sorcery in her eyes, mightier than numerous infallible legions.'
Lost was the battle, long lost the self-esteem.
Come oh dear firefly,
lamplit my path through these
wooden ceilings,...