Along the misty moors doth dwell
a maiden of the fairest kind...

The man stared at the ring
that hung around his neck...

A collied wind blew over seas,
the dust a trailing song...

Two alone in a precious garden
of love; there a golden apple grew...

When Spring arrives to take the lead,
all silence befalls the rising sun...

Ashes to ashes,
falling, crumbling...

Roses wind around barbed wire,
shrieking, yearning to escape...

Behind closed doors, lovers embrace,
no kind kisses left for me...

She's a broken butterfly,
drawn like moth to flame...

She stood awaiting Destiny
to come riding through the dusty streets...

Challenge
spears the tumultuous...

I stood, transfixed,
bathed in a silver light...