The fire of the sun sinks slowly through clouds, touching the distant peaks
The faraway mountains seem to doze in a warm, somber adagio of light
My spirit is heavy and weary and envy creeps into the cold pool of my soul
Iím jealous of the lifeless rock, free to sleep, Knowing no struggle, no plight.

Wind still warm in the remnants of the day pushes behind me, as if to urge me on
But still slowly, in my own reveries, in my own memories, do I walk in my own time
They carry me and insulate my will, hard as the distant jagged summits it remains
Thus fortified I take a step and all to come. My own rythym and my own rhyme.

Such longing in the path of my mind,
Oh dark journey, so long and unkind!
I see her face in the setting of the sun.
But nothing more, of comfort Iíve none.

It will be night soon, the dark and chill gathers. It silently stalks me from the east
The chilling air is bitter to taste, it is as dry as the sand that covers this waste.
Yes, darkness is closing, coming on fast. It is an animal that hunts me as a beast.
But to its claws Iíll not easily yield; using against it what little warmth I still wield

Black silence surrounds and engulfs, taking me into itís soft jaws it swallows me whole.
One would think it would hear should I scream! Would it hurt in my gunfireís gleam?
Of course, not. It simply feasts on the bared flesh of my soul and I must endure the pain.
For tomorrow I am made anew and reborn for I hold in my hands the comfort of the Horn.