I stand on steep, i stand alone,
I feel the wind,so rough and cold.
I'm not a thing, but just a fold,
On surface of this wreckless world.

I don't know when went wrong or right,
Each path i chose, led to an end...
Nor what i chose, the dark or light?
Each fiend i stalk was once my friend...

I was left here so long ago...
She told me that i have to wait...
Was that a dove? or was it crow?
She never came and nor betrayed...

I saw the world... which now is gone,
It had such, strange, related tone...
So different, from wind, when grown,
I stood on steep and heard alone...