Served was his head but still he could see far, far awayTheir open plains, their open fieldsWhere rivers ran with bloos they lifted his bodyDrenced in summerian black waters of sinClipped are the wings of this angelHis voice has been silencedStripped he has been limb from limbThe passage lies open, they are all written down word by wordtheir author, lord of cryptic seasCelestian guardian of their tale and scripturesLead them to the fire burningand they shall growWhen all this had been done his sight was still upon themNeither day nor night his eyes would shut