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