Forever we could never be
all we dream or hope to see
and yet if we settle out of court
or only hunt a beast for sport
how can we dare to pass on by
as the mirror calls us
to stand eye to eye

Rise up with the wind-born
who suffering long in shame
did hold on until the spring morn
with or without a better name

Long we toil in fields of thorn
for every scrap of vision seen
Every sheep must one day be shorn
but every pasture will again turn green