And this goes deeper than water,
wider, beyond the sea;
far across the lonely mountains
and over hilltop trees.

Further in the land of echoes,
with the calls of autumn wind;
darker than the shades of shadows
filled with frosty winter bliss.

Then down the lane of sorrows
of heartbreak, love and tears;
there it ends with spirals,
an ache no longer feared.

So the morning birds follow
the touch of warm summer's breeze;
its softness glide then soar
higher than spring-colored peaks.

They unravel the vastness
in the field of memory that tolls;
here we have arrived at tomorrow
and from here onwards we go.