|
Walk to precursor that stands, |
|
in front of this living creation |
|
Spoken with pace in this sacred space |
|
The gears are starting to tremble |
|
It lifts up its hand from this golden strand of fiber, |
|
Stops, and it waits there. |
|
Turning its head, awake from the dead. |
|
The gears are starting to tremble. |
|
Now by this time, it's straightened its spine, |
|
Looks down to its chest of silver. |
|
Reaching it hand to this withered man, |
|
The gears are starting to tremble. |
|
Shadow and doom are gone from this room |
|
Where I sit, sheltered by seaside. |
|
Lambent gold heart shall tear me apart, |
|
My gears are starting to tremble, |
|
My gears are starting to tremble. |