She sits upon a moss heap, aging only doss deep
She spits into the flames, and asks you for a name
And when you tell she answers, the future in her mind
The destiny you wander, the choices that you find
But she won't tell you good news, only misfortune brings
It is all up to you, to form all other things
The events that aren't yet written, are the ones that still lay hope
Into the fathoms of burden, into the mathers of slopes
If you think life only flows downhill, think again
Because you will surely seize to see the sunrise someday, my friend. |