We dwell in a mist uneasily shelved, between lifetimes
O autumn, may your crimson gold turn to new born day
Here in life we chant the utterance of dead men, why?
Bright star, pure mirror to our minds, many paths converging
Only to strangely vanish, hypnotized by unseen miracles
Cloaked angels gazing, singing of earth with overwhelming voice
The ancient faith of runed symbiants, vying for their queen
Our relics taken and offered on the airless shore of Pleiades’
Wide open future, our blazing thoughts outrunning the shadows
Our secret song, a door, a key to the golden paths of bliss
Drenched in memories, august and serene, dripping tranquility
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