Ballad of the Lost Forlorn

There was a day when all was still

and peace descended fair;

there was a day I climbed that hill

to touch the rarest air;

I saw the clouds above me roar,

I heard the West Wind scream;

I knew my heart could live no more

for there you killed my dream;

The blue above, the green below,

it all turned into death;

you robbed me of my very soul,

and stole my final breath.

And now I fly among the clouds,

my hair's the whipping storm,

I ride the West Wind's fever'd howl,

I am the Lost Forlorn.

© ACG 

28 December 2014