To be akin to the mystics of heart, a world filled with wonder - emotions play their part, for the gold and the blue and the white of the true and the reds and the yellows and the greens I bid you. The moment of striking and the shards of our ways to the tears in the oceans and the light of our day, to the peaks of the mountains and the depths of the sea to rise by a fraction to call and to free.
I sing of your heart kin and the art of our songs, to clear all the aching, undo all the wrongs. Our paths have been severed rebind them we must - for as long as we're breathing, we're doomed by distrust. All the blood that's been shed here would dry and would clear and all that would listen would come and would near, our wings they would beat strong from earth to the sky and carry us windward as far as the cry. I sing to your heart kin, the art of our songs, to clear all the aching, undo all the wrongs. Our paths would be tethered and bound by new trust - for as long as we're breathing, heal this we must.