Rustling into the fire of wood warm limbs lay weak on ground
Lighting up the night upon sepulchres will'-o -the -wisp

Towards the end a phantasmagoria
Of loosing thoughts as a fevered child

Roaming through blind emotions
Everyone waits his turn
While time falls from the green tree of life,
We are flaking as snow in the sun

Something blazes in the dry lands
Something takes away the cover of emptiness
Something survives the fear of dying
Gaia lays aside the dim light of her mantle
Weaving in the crossplay her archaic heavens
Embracing the souls of heroes
Gaia lays aside the dim light while we're returning
Reborning from ashes in her green and flowered mantle

Stolen to the death the deeds of heroes brightly survive