He is sitting on a hill

A vapid night is crawling through the vale

The trees are fangs of transiency

The demons forge hammers and nails



He will travel all the ways

That lead to the unknown lands

Time has distorted his view

An amen in his due



He is gazing at the skies

Without yearning in his eyes

And he will follow the invisible trace

When the sirens sing again...



The spring is in the air, the silence in the skies

The wind is in his hair, the moon is in his eyes

The bats play on but he'll be gone

Before the world has left the night



...the birds sing on but he has gone

Before the morning spreads its light