Seems we are to live our final days 

Far from the dwellings of men 

As flowing tides and shifting sands 

Far from the bitter gaze of soul less man 



In sorrow we fly from our loved ones 

To die in the waters of the wild 

My brethren can seek no shelter beneath these wings 

Until dead men rise from their graves 



How sad it is for me to see 

My fathers fallen halls 

Here once prideful men clashed as Gods 

With veins aflame and hearts of thunder 



Yet my fathers are long since dead and gone 

And I with heart so heavy 

And limbs so weary 

It seems our sun is all but dimmed 



And we your children have 

Wandered for years 

And felt the cruel blast of freezing winds 

But the harshest blow of all to come... 



To return at last to an empty home 



"Adapted and altered from the Irish folklore tale 

of the Children of Lir, turned to swans and condemned 

to roam for 300 years before returning home...to an empty 

home. An interesting spine for an allegorical tale. One of 

displacement, disenchantment and alienation...from this world 

and its ways. Longing for another Age... 

another time, another place..."