White horses skimming o'er the foaming seascape,
Poseidon's trident forking to the heavens.
All the gods' powers unleashed toward an unsuspecting world,
Mankind in his primitive ways cannot understand.
Nymphs and sirens spinning our Fates,
On the eternal wheel of Fortune.
Threads with threatened cuts pre?programmed,
When we're to live and what time our deaths are due.
Never ending are the tales of mankind's deeds of greatness,
Heroes both living and in Valhalla lay.
With all the skills and inventiveness withstanding.
We are but specks in the Cosmic World.
Dancing and sacrificing blood?geld,
To the woods and nature's guardians,
All these tumultuous natural scenarios,
Are but Windsongs of the mind's imagination.
Hallucinogenic spectres haunt us in our sleeping lives,
Fantasies engulf us during the waking time,
But mankind is in his final round now,
The Holocaust is but a button?press away.
The gods of old knew and set the statutes,
About and concerning man's use of this world.
When all again is peaceful on the green globe,
It'll be the Windsong that is the only sound.
Come then, mankind, do your worst.
Kill the life that nature's foodchain provides.
Pour your filth and chemical death into the waters.
Let the Windsong carry you away.
