One yearning, one infancy,
Trembling softly from the edges to the core,
We emerge from a grave of churning seas,
Knowing nothing of the world that came before.
Aletheia
From birth, we are blinded.
It's real; it's raw.
The dream is to find it...
Aeries, aeidō, aeidō
Aphanēs o psūkhē, para ego
Eirene zēto,
Anemos antiphone
Ambrotos isoraphē
Life beckons the soul again,
From the mountains, From the rivers to the shore,
But I can’t release this memory
Of a phantom, of a wish - or something more?