Travel under the eastern sky
keep your eyes on the road, do not ask why
that barren landscape, the color of rye
makes the hardened townspeople cry.

Legend states that the dusty flatland
was a servant to the sun so grand
the sun demanded amusement from the land
and the land created the dance of the sand.

The sand would fly throughout the desert space
for the sun to bestow her grace.
The act would make a storm and erase
any proof of fate and leave no trace.

The townspeople never spoke of the event,
but you must know what happened to an extent
when small ones run away at the advent
of these storms, the sands erase all torment.

You must vow to not wander from the road
when the sands hear the sun's lovely ode
and feel the need for a storm to explode
to dance and bury us all, as the sun foretold.

Follow the odd northern winds
with just some sense of indifference.
Do not become glued to the ground
its toxicity will weigh you down.
So push yourself up, fly with the wind
twist, turn, spin with the debris.
Twirl with those stuck in the breeze
enjoy the feeling of weightlessness
the kind the ground never could give.
Fly through the sky, throughout the night
do not stop even when it becomes light.
It is best to ignore the ground below
since it is not good for you, trust me, I know.
I just need you to vow to me right now
don't look down
don't look down
don't look down