|
As youthful ignorance is consumed in our wake |
|
The winds pounding against us gather strength |
|
Darkness seems to descend |
|
And many a frightened man feels his spirit desert him |
|
As it dawns on man that his hope is unfounded |
|
That his future is a great darkness |
|
Fate calls his name; for he controls not his own prosperity or his own misery |
|
The wind whispers unto me great stories of tragedy |
|
The horizon becomes an enigma |
|
Behold mist-laden landscapes |
|
The journey ahead may be a perilous one |
|
But there is no turning back |