Tides are turning, the river’s rolling on,
And the thirteenth moon is riding high beneath a liquid sky.
Leaves are crumbling, the final fall’s begun.
Under crystal waves and mirror lakes,
In dreams of endless summerdays,
The last season is run, season is run.
The human race is buried by a new humanity
Out on the silent islands where they ever may be free.
The ruins of an elder age are monuments to me
Of a struggle against death and love for timeless liberty.
And the City of Glass has been finished at last
To be ruled by the Autumnmenkind.
While the thirteenth moon shines on roads already passed
Where another PROGRESS we may find.
So I follow on my own way
and still wait for the last perfect day
But we, the Children of the Sea, are drifting through eternity
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