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.