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..."