The Skies of Thunder Moon arched above the evening stars, As the blood-streaked sun Sailed past violent clouds To slip beneath the edge of Land. The place where I once roamed, Free to taste the air, To run with the coyote cry, To learn the secret sorrows of those stars which whispered in the Wind the meanings of the Earth.
There had been one more thing I yearned to ask, But before the secret could be said, The fire came that swept me from my home, Leaving me but a fading thought for those who came to conquer.
As the clouds ascended, The thunder of the moon was hushed, A curtain drawn across its craggy mountain crests. And I was left for dead upon its tranquil seas of time.
For a moment there was no sound No bird to call for the dawning day An empty nest A lonely heart calling out to Nothingness.
But then... over there Just beyond the echo of the hills -- A soft almost silent song A different voice, an altered sound The very song that I had sung -- A lullaby to a child that once slept cradled in my arms.
Like a gentle kiss upon my brow My song awakens me, And I am surprised to find that I am here A small seed growing to a symphony Blooming upon the fertile ground of a new, Yet decaying ancient land.
You, youthful souls, Who have no blame, Are destined to vanish too. Victims, like I, of the hurricane of history, Your story promised to another time, To be told by those who come to conquer next.
Then you will be the song within that conqueror's dream. Living on in myth and memory. But I will be the dream within the dream The seed within the seed.
For every race that is vanquished by Holocaust's hand Curls first within itself before it disappears Only to reappear, Embedded deep within the weeping heart Of the Emperor who now strides the planet's sphere.
So listen softly to hear a voice triumphant For within the centerpoint of a simple song Lies the lightning bolt Of the tear...