Drifting in dreams of memory past
To pray to never wake
Or return to spiritless cages
That held me once before
So mant seasons I've seen
heart as winter's cold...
To melt in a summer's passion
To forge a new things that have grown so old 

My Gods need me now
I've sheltered beneath their sky
My life I would willingly give
For their return, it is but an honour to die 

 [bad word] and go Children grow to die
Kings [bad word] 
And Kings may go 

But our Gods [bad word] the sky