One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Stringless lays the bard's lute, as he remembers the mistake of strumming to fierce during his story of the ages.
He has shared his story upon deafen ears.
None heard the tale of an incredible task done by he.
His song dances with the wind as he weeps.

Farmers and warriors alike seek the smith for his skill. Yet none find the tools they sought.
Undesirable guilt follows the smith.
His creations are misused and abused, never was war an interest of his.
Regardless of his intent to protect, his responsibility is to his people.

Becoming lost in the story can cause damage to your song
So lift up your shield, just in case it's too strong
Guilt and pain aside
Every comet has its demise.

As long as my hazel-glazed eyes
Can be a witness to the pale cyan sky,
feel the dew covered blades of green grass
between my toes and under my dirt covered feet;
the sense of comfort of a loving home will overwhelm me.