And so with golden crown and silver scepter The weight of the world on your shoulder You look once more at that pretty little rock And see a mighty strong boulder
Out by silver rocks And fjords of solid ice, to the golden moon's marrow, lay an extended hand, harrowed In draws of every breath, followed All in desperation, borrowed A forsaken dove, it cries To the golden moon, it flies.
Dark days, it’s never light I have the lights on all day Night is starting to close in at four pm At least it’s a quiet time of year Nothing is stirring Typical November No sun, no moon, no stars