Strolling freely along the sands of time, Grains warmly cushioning my sore feet that have walked these miles, The golden Sun lights my path and shows me how to find the Moon, And as the Moon beams dance and flicker off the gently flowing silver lake The Wind blows and whispers me a word of compassion and It tells me of a time when this lonely desert was flushed with flowing rivers.
Now the rays of morning light cast shadows amongst the dunes I once slept, I look mournfully as the Sun and Moon coincide, but struggle to light my days.
My days here have grown strenuous on my worried soul and salty beads of sweat rain down my face trying to cool me from the Sun's radiant heat, Light turns to dark and my body now shivers from the cold words of the Wind.
I crawl to the silent river bed, and see a reflection of a stranger peering into my eyes, I have become unknown to my mind. I cup the lake's water in my hands and splash it over my unshaven skin, An Artic like chill of silver water streams down my face and awakens my every sense. I foresee an image of this forsaken land, an image of fiery fury not meant for me, So I sit in the salt like sand and whisper words of goodbye into the Wind, to the Sun and Moon:
