Saline Grace Bird Song
From the deceptive days in Bordertown
We set off holding our hands
Through the frosty woodlands' paths
Those silently whispering, sinister lands
Leaving the white woodlands behind
We saw it coming, the cold-tortured countenance
Within a fallow wasteland a frozen stream was
Sadly flowing on wrong tracks, without a chance
Losing the distant murmur of Bordertown
Your exhausted eyes shed bitter tears
An easier fate we had tried to reach
But along the stream no bird was singing
Within our years
