Scribe's feather on his parchment
with ink and stone and quill,
he writes the ending of the night
and how the moon was killed.
Of how the stars all faded
and the wild winds were tamed,
how gold o'ertook the silver
all to the sun's acclaim.
And all across the kingdom
the proclamation swore
the sun would reign forever.
We'd see the moon no more.
The wheat and lambs and children
would grow up to the light,
the war between the day and dark
now ends without a fight.
Peace, proclaimed the kingdom,
nightmares, dreams and dusk,
the haunts along the traveller's road
no more shall trouble us.
And the people cheered their rulers,
"the night is gone at last,"
but the sun still sets, the shadows grow,
and the moon still sails past.
So sign your laws and promises,
and say the dark is dead,
and cower by the hearth fire
and hide within your bed
for the moon still sails slowly
and the night is all our dream
and we'll haunt your roads forever
while the wild winds blow free.
