I slumber throught my years. Like the desert moves with the wind. Frozen and flickering, the lustful year Has met it's end. A wanderer I am indeed... The son of the moon... And I will carry mountains soon. A burden I was for those who woke the sun I threw their masks away, lit my torches, And burned their eyes... Forgiven I never was. But I will carry mountains soon. A burden, is it not? Kneeling I chose my faith, While they lit the sun, and flew naked and blind Over my desert fields.