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.