I run through fields of time,
Hearing the ticking of eternity’s clock,
Kept stopping to smell the wild flowers,
The blue blossoms,
That my sister use to wear
In her lovely black hair…

Trailing my hands,
Through the wild wheat,
Sage brush staining my hands,
With it’s musky scent,
And I lay on the earth,
Spent-

Clock ticking,
My feet are weary,
My long hair shorn,
My hands covered in
Yesterday’s scars,
My life a lie,
I am ready to die…

Then you come,
Block my view of the sun,
Claim to be the one,
Who will save me-
But;
You’re too late!