With wings
And Zephyr pull,
Out of tumult and solitude,
make us fly to greener climes.

The yearning​ of the
The loss of cold
That makes us wander so.

Those battered wings that
make us fledglings,
and faulter up on high.

That cause for us to crash again
into the burning snow.

Yet with a burning need
To melt the frozen rock.

Is mettle of our will,
and of the earth to shake.

So alight again
with fierce and needed flailing,

full of wondering.

Become a force.
Of fight or flight,
no longer,
only thing.
More than sum of it, it's parts
and wary be your sting.

That wakes from you dispaire,
that dark remains and reigns,
with all the sun to fear.

With all against we ever fight, with forever death of night.