It’s that hour again
It’s that hour of night
When I start my descending and lonely flight.
It will take me to places I’d rather not see
From the stench of a swamp to the roaring sea
From the sunbathing peaks
To the darkness of fog
Through the air that reeks
Of a lotus and smog.
I will fly over gardens that grow in the mud
Over ruins that boast a lustrous facade
Over shattered idols that lay in the grass
Over towering statues of stone and glass.
Red carnivorous flowers, blooming below
Will be whispering my name on a rocky plateau
Their call will be strong, their smell will be sweet
Their red hungry petals will wait to deceit.
I will see three tornadoes that tear apart
A metropolis shaped like a monstrous heart
And the air will hurt and the air will cry
And the flowers in the distance will whisper “Don’t fly…”
But the castle that shines like a flame in the dark
And the star that will flash in the sky like a spark
Will be there for me, I will hear their call
I’ll be flying again and escaping free fall.
Flying over that land is my gift and my pain
Hungry flowers and stars struggle there for reign
Clock will strike and its sound will count to twelve
As I fly through the land that is known as Myself.