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I've walked the path, the lonely winter road
Through desolate forests and dismal plains
I rode into forgotten lands, and saw the ruins
Crumbling at my feet, no more than a memory

A life spent searching, for a world long gone
A life wasted, for this world long gone

A worn and tired soul, a brittle husk
A fading memory, a world not ready

I've gazed into the stars, and have seent he universe
Yet I still wander, endlessly searching
For that which can't be found, yearning for a taste
Of the old magic, of the true magic

I am not he who shot the albatross
I am not he who has but one eye
I call upon the dead and their ancient wisdom
But it is in vein, this world's not ready

Worship the cult, the legend lives on
If only in faded memories
Remembered by few, from myth to fantasy
Forever the mysticism lives

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