Susurrus in the weald, cadence of the wild,
fervidly concealed, a thrum beneath the stars;
eyes of stoic amber, rustling in the grass,
a hunter in the field, some things will always last.
Jester’s moon above the escarpment, a night of pallid grace;
hitherto and thitherto, the shadows in every place.

She sees the firelight flicker as she gazes out the window from her room;
Is that a burning bush she spies, or flames rising up to usher in her doom:
She’s waiting for a message, not sure who’s gonna call;
And she’s hoping for some answers, to her questions one and all:

Down here in the valley, the sky above has formed a roof of tin;
Her prayers bounce off of it, come rushing back to her again:
As gold is tempered, surely she’s a precious gem:
But the sparkle’s all muted, while she’s in this darkened den:

The sun beats down on her, her throat dries up, her skin begins to burn;
They say a barren desert is the only place humility is learned:
She’s pulling on the reigns, but the horse is running wild;
Will she hand them back to you, rest in your arms like a trusting child:

When she gets to the mountains and she feels the cool breeze blowing
through her hair;
She will sing and shout after all her sorrow and despair;
Love can hold a mystery between the lover and the loved;
But it all comes clear once you see the bottom from above:

Yes love can hold a mystery between the lover and the loved;
But it all comes clear once you see the bottom from above: