Right at the edge of a lonely town,
There stands a house that shrubs surround.
Wild flowers do cracked tiles crown,
And not a soul to be seen around.
Yet through empty halls ancient echoes weep,
Calling to those who in far lands sleep.
Torn apart by lines on the ground
The age old laughter makes no sound.

What comes for me I do not know.
It may be pain, it may be pleasure
Knowing, the seeds of change I sow,
And sit in wait for the unknown treasure.
I await a new day's dawn,
When sins are forgiven and sorrows are gone.
As I sow, so shall I reap,
Knowing I wake today from sleep.

Empty words on a lifeless page,
Oh what stories they may tell,
Of some wise and ancient sage, Or of those who in lost lands dwell.
Come now and do reveal
What tales did your white garb steal.

Not of sages or of people far,
Your tales are closer to the heart.
Stories of many a past scar,
And of a hopeful and humble start.
The tales you hold belong to me,
And with you forever they shall be.

Days turned months, and months to years,
The child now a youth smiled no more.
She alone could see her tears,
As she kept on singing, like an age old chore.
She longed to see the endless sands,
She longed to see the mountains high.
She wished to visit foreign lands,
And soar above all, through the boundless sky.

Far in the depths of a barren land
There lived a child with the gift of song.
She would sing through the day with hand in hand,
Waiting for someone to come along.
Some lost soul in search of hope,
Some wanderer from ages past,
There to aid the young kid cope
With the lonesome thoughts of the badland vast.