

Light Seeker's TragedyLight Seeker's TragedyLight Seeker's Tragedy
Seven months I sought the light, Rode the peaks to towering height. A rotting hand to touch the sun, Down my arm my dark blood run; So I hope my wounds would heal, Singeing in the white one's zeal.
A faceless storm hid the sky, With the wind my blood blew dry. When the mountain gone with rust, My hopes fell with face in dust. And again I to loneliness bind, And again I a shadow mask find.