Seems we are to live our final days    Far from the dwellings of men    As flowing tides and shifting sands    Far from the bitter gaze of soul less man       In sorrow we fly from our loved ones    To die in the waters of the wild    My brethren can seek no shelter beneath these wings    Until dead men rise from their graves       How sad it is for me to see    My fathers fallen halls    Here once prideful men clashed as Gods    With veins aflame and hearts of thunder       Yet my fathers are long since dead and gone    And I with heart so heavy    And limbs so weary    It seems our sun is all but dimmed       And we your children have    Wandered for years    And felt the cruel blast of freezing winds    But the harshest blow of all to come...       To return at last to an empty home       "Adapted and altered from the Irish folklore tale    of the Children of Lir, turned to swans and condemned    to roam for 300 years before returning home...to an empty    home. An interesting spine for an allegorical tale. One of    displacement, disenchantment and alienation...from this world    and its ways. Longing for another Age...    another time, another place..."