High upon the crest, I can see
the wide desert stretches out in all directions
Clouds change shape, blown overhead by the bitter blustery wind
Of winter morning
of winter mourning
over the Land of No Seasons
and the dreams of a thousand years past
the City sleeps like a mastiff
keeping watch over the Doors of Change
and yet I will dare to pass through those doors

I will sing in this moment of clarity
veil torn away from my eyes
magic running through my veins
In this moment I can see
in this fantastic, phantasmic singular moment of Grace
I will not mourn the passing of this vision
I will let it burn like a hot coal
a glowing ember
embedded in my fluttering, failing heart

When my will is at last spent
Gravity will urge me onward
like the boulder borne by Sisyphus
careening down the mountainside