As I stand here burning leaves The aroma of autumn Distinct and full of memories Cold yet warming, like hidden sin ‘Tis death approaching A season's end Grey skies and long nights The beginning of decay Green turns to gold But it will not stay Under a harvest moon An omen looms From fervent prayer A discerning guide A spirit of light May all who hear beware Servants of twilight There is a coming dawn There the vultures will gather There death will new life spawn As the earth grows cold And all its hues fade Memories of our future Are revived once again At the end of an age Harvesting wheat Burning the tares