I slumber throught my years, like the desert moves with the wind.

Frozen and flickering, the lustful year has met its end.

A wanderer I am indeed...

...the son of the moon...

and I will carry mountains soon.



A burden I was for those who woke the sun.

I threw their masks away, lit my torches and burned their eyes.



Forgiven I never was.



But I will carry mountains soon.

A burden, is it not?



Kneeling I chose my faith,

while they lit the sun, and flew naked and blind over my desert fields.