A moonlit breeze softly flows past the ancient night. Always

calling out to the saints who hear nothing. Never to see the

royality of age, and the beauty of life. Fortune comes for all

man, inside a fragile wish. Forever sending guides of hope unto

this very flame. To burn away every dream. All the beauty, twice

again. To whisper in the wind. Follow me to the edge of the sun,

where only the coldest of hearts can survive. Laughing to mock me,

in sadness we dwell. Standing alone, all time stands still, for

you.