Ballad mysterious, perhaps circulated Staig fighters in North America, towards the borders between Canada and Alaska. We do not know much about rhythm and moss, but it is almost certain that it was not accompanied by a choir instruments.
Jutting arms as old-growth white bones to the moon, while
emerges from the womb of the old sergeant
dark flower that opens on the border of life,
uncertain steps rode in the shadows the quiet end.
Yet tonight the story-driven mammalian hung
looks different, my lord, and perhaps that is about to die, for that
sergeant left here in this lunar
spree that only our heavenly realms spread of Sirius listeners.
under that tree the sergeant saw the ultimate challenge, he dueled
commands such as honor,
Araman son has become the story of his soldiers,
and now sits under the tree, watching the moon
small mowing the stars while in patrol patrol
sing the mammals away from the sergeant.
Who knows, between us, as between them, such as eyes at the end
welcome the soldiers who sleep under the tree now?
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