Burning skin, soft tones speaking,
Hark the soft whispering wind,
in the land of the old dying king,
The old wise one closes her wing!
Burning lips, bitter eyes leering,
Hark the soft whimpering wind,
In the land of the young shy king,
The old wise one starts to sing,
The young shall soon fade away,
For he is destined to make way,
And this is how it shall forever be,
close your eyes and you shall see.
The old wise one now dances,
Let the motion speak to you,
the wind whispers louder,
How is the song ever new?
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