He stops to listen intently to the earth
it tells him the purpose of his birth.
A story so long and sad
when it’s over, you’ll be glad.
He pricks his ears, the wind shifts
he hears a voice that drifts.
A lunar flower is his search
Cheza, more beautiful than the trees of birch.
Arctic wolf, Lunar flower
the clock strikes 12 at the tower.
City so polluted, city so dark
how he longs for the sound of a harp.
Search for Paradise they will seek
or will it all turn in vain while we weep?
Endless deaths awaken the agony of sorrow
the pain, the losses, the tears never ending until tomorrow.
A cloud once white now stained with red
every dream you once had read.
Weep we shall, but the story continues on
for a heartfelt story never loses its bond.
Strong and brave the wolf will be
the lunar flower helps him see.
The light the dark, never matters now
only question to get to Paradise is how.
Maybe one day when the tale is told
it can take a new hold.