he is sitting on a hill 
a vapid night is crawling through the vale 
the trees are fangs of transiency 
the demons forge hammers and nails 
he will travel all the ways 
that lead to the unknown lands 
time has distorted his view 
an amen in his due 
he is gazing at the skies 
without yearning in his eyes 
and he will follow the invisible trace 
when the sirens sing again... 
the spring is in the air, the silence in the skies 
the wind is in his hair, the moon is in his eyes 
the bats play on but he'll be gone 
before the world has left the night 
...the birds sing on but he has gone 
before the morning spreads its light