Hanging Garden The Four Winds
When the fire burns low
Embers in the searing morn
Pour the last cup on the dying pyre
For the four winds before setting sail
Oh north, there's nothing here
These hills are quiet in their decaying sleep
The souls here have lost their spark
Lost their spark
East wind, rise brisk and tall
Take me away, take me far
Further still when upon the shore
Upon the shore
West, dear friеnd, remind me still
Wherе my spirit lies, and I will
Reside when my heart goes still
And brave south, bless my bones
When the trail weighs on my soul
And my fire's about to die
About to die
When the fire burns bold
Embers in the smoldering dawn will glow
Drink the first cup by the roaring pyre
For the winds to take me far
West, dear friend, remind me still
Where my spirit lies, and I will
Reside when my heart goes still
And brave south, bless my bones
When the trail weighs on my soul
Breathe your life on my dying fire
My fire now alight
