Cracking soil, ice of grey.
Pristine snow on the ground, so white.
And a Town in a loop of highways
Spread like a patched eiderdown.
In the Town skies are cloudy today,
Yellow smoke drifts above in the blue.
Shielding meagre daylight away.
Town is not thousand years old, but two.
They have passed in the light of a star,
That goes by the name Sun.
For two thousand years, it's been war.
That has hardly a good reason for.
War is a business of young,
A remedy from growing old.
Scarlet blood, scarlet blood spills.
In a day you see nothing but soil.
In two days, flowers thrive on the ground,
In three days soil is nearly revived,
Baking in the light of a star
That goes by the name Sun.
Things have always been this way, we know.
And we know whom the fate favors most -
One, who lives and abides different laws.
One, who'll likely never grow old.
And he knows neither names, nor ranks.
He knows neither "admit" nor "deny".
Doesn't care it's dream. He could
Reach the stars... and fall haplessly down
Blazen by the light of a star that goes by the name Sun.