It’s a song within us all,
a war within the heart,
at the gates of twilight,
the shadow and the god.
Like seasons that must change,
and days that must expire,
the hero takes the mask off
and walks home through the fire.
Legends born from dust,
like the dusk before the night,
for the one who drops the berries of day,
is the one who makes them ripe.

It’s a storm that breaks at dusk,
it’s the light that is reborn,
at the gates of evening,
where the moon bids well the sun.
Like the leaves that must turn red,
as the petals of desire,
she who takes her mask off
walks home through the fire.
Legends born from dust,
like the dark after last light,
for the one who steals
the green leaves of day
is the one who gave them life.

At the twilight we where they meet,
between the day and night,
the ritual of dark,
is a prayer of light.