Marble skies roll over golden fields,
in the silent winds, whispers travel to the ears.
Their faces are free, painted with joy,
under the setting sun.

Born on rocks and forged with hate,
their worlds collide and separate,
and now they find themselves sown together,
under the setting sun.

Warm air swirls and curls and flows,
down from the sky, and through their bones,
waiting for an event horizon,
they feel the setting sun.

Gods are known to tear apart,
the sacred chains that bind two hearts,
but nothing can stop their everlasting love,
under the setting sun.