I slumber throught my years. Like the desert moves with the wind. Frozen and flickering, the lustful year has met its 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.