Arthur Edwardson

What a wonderous piece of work is man
To create a perfect utopian land
He destroys those things he cannot see
Why is he realted to me
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The road is a lonely place at night
It’s just me, the stars and the pale moonlight
My thoughts are my own as I run the gears
Thinking of you and us all these years
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Strangely cold within the grave
We envision brilliant dreams among the fire
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The night falls with a silent sigh, cold and alone are we the forgotten.
We are the light for which you lust
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It is a night of sorrow, a song of dark desire,
wolves vent their loneliness. The thirsting one
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