Streams rush swift and wide, down the slopes in restless tide. Alone I roam the barren plain, a solitary soul…
Streams rush swift and wide, down the slopes in restless tide.
Alone I roam the barren plain, a solitary soul in pain.
At sunset's fall on the crest, I curl and shiver, seeking rest.
Cold numbs my throat, my tongue retreats deep down below.
The river's tears softly fall, a mournful, endless, aching call.