He wandered upon the frozen stones of a grassen hill
To gaze at the lives beneath his feet
One little cricket came to his need
To shed some melodies for the ear
He looked back at his empty spot
Mist and air so cloudy, the sight was brief
How did the creatures live down there?
The cricket's song and gentle breeze in night,
Surrounded and held him accompanied
Mere fools, did they have a purpose?
To conquer and spill blood of other's shells
Who could have guessed it would happen so?
A crowned being from up above, that high?
He sighed his sigh, and in the wind whirled fog
Cricket's song turned softer, and lower
As he watched the people with a blank face
The deeds they had done, the utter sins so cruel
Who could have known, since long before?
This one, but his name is gone now far away
And won't ever return to his broken heaven
So soothing the cricket plays, and the breeze so calm
Here he shall sit for another century
And gaze at the clouds go sicker
He blinks with the tired eyelids
’The god before me is not dead it seems
For this shattered realm is beyond all help
To save this, is to die and die countless times, and again
This melancholy sight will he see everyday
No different than all those other years
For he will not die until the world is a myth
He shuts his mirrors and whispers the wind in movement
This voice of the ambience is what only a few can hear
... Hear his shallow whisperings ...